


To Catch a God

by LiaS0



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4556769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiaS0/pseuds/LiaS0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Solas’ plans with the orb are able to come to fruition without Corypheus. Donning his name of Fen’Harel once more, the God of Rebellion rips the very veil apart in his quest to release the other gods of the pantheon from their prison. He does not expect this to bring the ancient magic of Arlathan back to the people, though. He does not expect this to cause a civil war so bloody that it threatens to annihilate both the Elvhen and mankind. </p>
<p>Lupa Lavellan is one of the ‘Forsworn’, a slurred name for a person that refused to take sides in The War of Elves. Cursed to roam as an isolated wanderer, Lupa becomes the symbol of The Inquisition, the gathering of those that would see justice dispensed upon the one that started the madness of war -Fen’Harel himself. With only her wits to keep her alive -as well as the help of a mysterious elf that seems to always be there right when she needs him -Lupa must find a way to bring peace to Thedas before it is too late. But how can a mere mortal hope to ever best a god?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JessicaPendragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaPendragon/gifts).



Prologue:

The War of Elves was by far the bloodiest that Thedas would ever witness. The day that the veil was torn wide open and magic cascaded over the Elvhen was the day that the Elvhen rose up, their power unmatched and their fury tempered into a file steel that cut ribbons from what used to be the flesh of men. Spirits of a time from Before, a time when the Elvhen were great, flocked to their magic and spread over the land, free to roam it once more. Their chant was almost unanimous, their frenzy insatiable: We are free. Never again will we take a knee. We are the Elvhen, and we will remake our Arlathan.

            As always, though, the nature of man would not be cowed. Their forces rallied, their fury great. Although they were trained and their blood sang with their stubborn refusal to submit, not every human was a mage. Every elf was, though. And they were all too willing to use their newly found talent. The dwarves retreated to their homes beneath the stone, and the Qunari that were not Tal Vashoth sat back to watch, waiting to see how the favors would turn.

            The war began in earnest.

            Ten years of blood and ten years of death, and still the war raged on, unceasing with its lust. The Elvhen would not submit, and mankind would not bow down. Worn, bitter, and for the first time in centuries, terrified of the elves, mankind banded together from all nations, sending their best and brightest to form a military that could quell the tide of elves that beat against their shores, demanding their blood. Their goal was simple, concise: if they could not kill the elves, then they would simply take their savior, the one that started it all, and they would make _him_ fix it. It was his name that was chanted in the streets, his name that elves called out to if they fell in battle. Though no one had ever seen the elf before, every small, human child shuddered when his name was uttered. He’d torn the very veil apart and brought chaos to Thedas. He’d brought on the war that did nothing but end lives. He was the reason that all things horrible had happened. He was the reason why everything was suddenly _wrong_.

            Fen’Harel was to blame. Fen’Harel would pay.

            The Inquisition would bring him to justice.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

            The air tasted like sweat and dirt.

            Lupa hunkered down in the dust, a scarf tied over her nose and mouth to protect her from inhaling the grit and grain of the ground she pressed her body to. It was foul, though. Her breath bounced back to her mouth, leaving her less oxygen in the stifling bind she’d put over her face. It was necessary, though. Lying face down in the dirt didn’t taste all that good. In front of her, meager scrub brush was all that kept her from an end on a wicked blade, the twigs and branches giving her enough camouflage to keep her from being detected. If she didn’t move, that is.

            Down below, marching in four columns of what had to be over four thousand men strong, was a regiment of the Elvhen. Their emerald armor was blinding, the ruthless sun above them lighting up every scrap of metal and using it as a weapon against the eyes. Although she longed to lift her hand and guard her poor vision, Lupa knew that movement was deadly. The commanders that rode on the outside of the Emerald Knights could see farther than most, a magical vision of theirs that was rumored to be able to catch the subtle blink of an enemy’s eye over a thousand yards away. Lupa knew that a thousand yards was highly unlikely, but she was only about three hundred yards away. That sort of close proximity wasn’t something she was going to risk.

            Their steps were uniformed, an almost eerie march that did not vary between person to person. The Emerald Knights of the Elvhen were said to be the most ruthless of the Elvhen’s warriors, their magic a force deadlier than the weapons they crafted of iron bark and matter from the Fade. Why they would be as far west as the Western Approach was not something that Lupa cared to think about, but there they were, and so she would venture east in order to avoid them. If they saw her, they would kill her on sight.

            As the last of the commanders rode by on their halla, Lupa slunk down into a small dip in the sand, using a rock as her cover. If she could make it to the outcropping of trees that lay close by, she could find enough cover to hasten her escape into a full on run. She peeked around the rock, but still the rest of the soldiers marched on, feet untroubled by the long marches they endured. She wiggled her own toes in boots that she’d stolen from the back of a merchant’s cart, and she scowled behind her face cover. The boots were narrow, and they pinched when she stepped.

            The wind blew towards the regiment, and Lupa stilled, waiting to see if any of them started at her scent. Some of the elves were supposedly also kin to animals, their senses as sharp as a wolf or a lion. Depending on the magical capabilities that they’d gathered, some of the elves could even turn into different animals, shapeshifters that slunk about in the shadows to attack unsuspecting prey. The scorching wind died down, though, and her heart stilled. Somewhat. She counted her heartbeats, and when she reached ten, she scurried over to the next hiding place.

            Slowly, pain-stakingly, Lupa inched her way to the copse of trees, her breathing even despite the sweat that soaked into her armor and the warning in the back of her head that if she didn’t succeed, she would die. She would have been lying if she said that she wasn’t afraid. Fear wasn’t a bad thing, though –not to Lupa. Fear kept her sharp, kept her alert to her own mortality. Without it, people made mistakes.

            When she reached the trees, Lupa lifted herself up off of her belly and smiled grimly beneath the scarf. Sweat poured over her brow, but she didn’t lift a hand to wipe it away. Instead, she ran in a crouched lope, skirting among the underbrush. When no one sounded the alarm, she picked up her pace, her feet blurs along the sand and her eyes narrowed.

            It was at that unfortunate moment that a tripwire lifted up from the sand and sent her sprawling head over feet, crashing to the ground.

            “Fen’Harel!” She swore, scrambling back up. Her heart was attempting to rip itself from her ribs, screaming, but she ignored it and grasped her weapons, ready for a fight. When no one attacked though, she pressed her back to the trunk of a tree and looked around for any culprit or enemy. Nothing. She was still alone.

            Confused, she knelt down by the tripwire and examined it, taking in its rusted ends and the cord that she’d broken by tripping over it. No booby trap lay in wait, nor did an animal fall from the sky upon her. Had she stumbled on an old trap from before the war, something that’d been missed by sweepers gleaning over the Western Approach for something useful? Her finger slid along the tripwire, and it bit at her fingertip, drawing blood.

            That was when she felt the magic.

            “No,” she whispered, horrified. The magic welled up inside of her, eager and hungry, and she cast her gaze around for something, anything that could help her. The buzzing energy trilled at her veins and sang, and she lifted her scarf in order to jam her finger into her mouth, cleaning the blood from her skin. Maybe, just _maybe_ if she stopped the wound, the magic would stay away? She felt the heat of fire in her hand, and before she could melt her face off, she cast her arm away from her, screwing her eyes shut tight. No such luck.

            The fire burst from her palm, setting the brush at her feet aflame. With a panicked curse, she stomped at the flame, but as it continued to pour from her palm, greedy and insatiable, Lupa turned and burst into a sprint, not bothering to crouch. Once the smoke rose up, she would be discovered. _Fen’Harel_ , she swore silently, and as the fire finally abated from her palm, she curled her hand into a fist and pumped her arms.

            Lupa heard the shouts as the Emerald Knights sighted the smoke. From above, sparks flew high into the sky, yellow for a warning, something to alert those behind and in front of the person that’d sighted the smoke. The regiment cheered, and she could almost smell hell on her heels as a group was dispatched to investigate. They were going to catch her. The Emerald Knights were going to catch her.

            She turned and wove through the tree branches, jerking out of the hold of the grabbing fingers that tugged at her clothing and attempting to hold her back. The whooping and shouting was gaining on her, and red sparks arced in the sky when one of them spotted her. The nearby regiment cheered, the predators probably wondering what sort of prey they would catch, hungry for blood. When her lungs threatened to give out, she faltered, and she paused for a moment with her hands on her knees, gasping. She had to keep moving. She had to keep running.

            Instead, she was grabbed from behind and pulled against the trunk of a dead tree, a hand clamped tightly over her mouth.

            “Do not move.” Someone whispered in her ear. Against all reason, against all logic, she listened to it. She could not still her frantically beating heart, but her arms fell to her sides, and she did not fight against the person that pressed against her back, their body aligning along hers in near-perfection.

            Weaving through the trees, four Emerald Knights hollered and made their way to her. Lupa tensed, and the person’s mouth pressed close to her ear.

            “Do not make a sound.” The voice urged her. Lupa couldn’t even bring herself to nod, let alone try and make a sound. She could see them distinctly, their staffs of magic holding lethal blades on either end, leaf-shaped shields strapped to their backs. Despite the unforgiving heat of the Western Approach, they were fully dressed in their armor, some spell likely giving them reprieve from the elements.

            They drew closer, and her heart stopped.

            One of the elves, a tall and thin girl, paused and looked around, her eyes the color of newly spilled blood. Her companions stood behind her, their shouts of eagerness fading when she did not move.

            “Where’s the quarry?” One asked eagerly.

            “Yes, where’s the trail?”

            “ _Fenedhis_ ,” the girl swore, and she crouched, waving her staff over the sand. Lupa gaped, her footsteps showing up in the sand, clear as day and leading directly to where she now stood with a stranger’s arms wrapped around her. When the girl looked up, though, she did not seem to see Lupa at all, though her eyes were level with Lupa’s thighs. She scowled, and she cast her gaze about for where the trail led to.

            “You lost it?” A sullen-looking boy demanded. The girl growled as she stood up, and she switched to fluent Elvish as she spoke, the words falling against Lupa’s ears but not sticking. Those that were powerful mages were said to have been able to piece their ancestry together, the language coming back as rich and full. The boy responded in turn, their argument grating and scratching at Lupa. The other two in their party waited, bored now that there was no hunt.

            “-Ven.” The girl’s garbled speech ended with a word that Lupa did know. _To go._ To her utter shock and confusion, the company moved on, the girl’s order to go marking her as the highest rank among them. They jogged through the trees, their footfalls making no noise in the sand. Not a single one of them turned to look at her, although she seemingly stood in plain sight.

            The person behind her relaxed, and the moment that they did, Lupa threw her elbows back into their gut, relishing in the muted _oomph_ that they gave as they doubled over. She twisted and held her knives at the ready, a snarl on her lips as she gazed upon her –what, rescuer? The elf straightened and adjusted his robes, one hand to his gut, clearly pained.

            “A simple thank you would have sufficed.” He said, his grey eyes disapproving. Lupa bristled.

            “Who are you?” She demanded. Although he was not dressed as an Emerald Knight, the fact that his magic was powerful enough to completely cloak them from view was something to fear. Ever since the sky had fallen, each elf had had to learn just how far their powers had grown. It seemed that this one’s had grown substantially.

            “I am Solas, if there are to be introductions. And you are?” He was bald, his clothing simple and his feet wrapped the way that most elves used to have them bound. Before the war. Before the bloodshed.

            “Why did you help me?” There was no staff in his hand, something that made her increasingly nervous. Although he had helped her, the fact that he didn’t need a staff to do it was enough to tell her that she should run far, far away from him.

            “Should I have not? You looked as though you were attempting to avoid them.” ‘Solas’ looked through the trees, like he could still see the four knights rushing after their quarry.

            “…Thank you. I will be going, now.” Lupa adjusted the scarf around her nose and mouth and turned away from him, although her senses were screaming to not turn her back to him. There was a quiet chuckle, and she stiffened.

            “I wonder where a forsworn could be off to in such a hurry.” Lupa’s spine stiffened at the slur, and she glanced back at the mage coldly. She was rewarded with an intense, probing stare.

            “That is none of your concern.” She said, and she gripped the heavy handle of her blades, her fingers curling tightly around them. It was reassuring to have something to hold onto.

            “You couldn’t do much damage with those. No, the moment that you struck me, I’d have a spell ready. Then, it would hit you, and your magic would react once more. We would be revealed.” His stare seemed to strip layers of her away, a terrifying thought. Could he read her mind the way that the rumors said? Was he a mage that could turn the memories of your mind the way that one would turn the page of a book?

            “You saw that?” She asked.

            “It was difficult not to. You set half of the trees on fire.”

            “It was an accident.” Lupa snapped.

            “Yes, clearly.” Solas agreed. “It was apparent, as you ran with your hand as far away from you as you could manage, that you are a newly sprung mage, one that was born from the Veil opening and not one that was born with it already inside of you.”

Lupa would know best about what sort of mage she was; at sixteen years of age, to suddenly wake up and set her bed aflame with only her hand was something that shook her to her very core with fear. No, Lupa was not a mage. Lupa had never once shown any talent for magic. She was a Hunter, and before the Veil had been ripped apart, she had been the best damn Hunter that any Dalish clan had ever seen.

There were no longer any clans. Just the Elvhen. Just the humans. Just the Forsworn. Just war.

            “I’ll be going, then. Alone.” Lupa turned and scanned the area, hunting for a place that she could hide away in until the regiment passed. There was a quiet chuckle, and she heard his footsteps as he drew near.

            “When the soldiers double back, how will you hide?” Solas asked curiously.

            “The same way that I always do.”

            “That has aided you for some time, I see. But will it aid you when they report back to their commanders, and a higher rank of mage is sent after you? How do you think that you will fare?” To Lupa’s annoyance, he didn’t sound like he was mocking her. No, if anything, he spoke with a distinctly factual tone of someone that was genuinely curious. It wasn’t safe, though. No matter how curious, no matter how kind, he could be a spy from either side. He would follow her long enough that her guard would be let down, and then he would kill her. Some elves served humans under the pretense of wishing for equality. Some humans served as lower classes among the Elvhen. That was the way of war.

            “I have fared well enough for this long. I shall be fine.”

            “Yes, I notice that you are much travel-worn. Against a regiment like the one that travels alongside us, though, I can safely say that you will be out-matched.”

            “Why do you care, stranger? We do not know one another.” Lupa spied a small out-cropping of rocks and started in that direction, her keen ears listening for the sounds of the four that’d nearly caught her. To her utter annoyance, Solas followed her.

            “We are strangers no longer. I introduced myself.”

            “I have not introduced myself.”

            “Yes, I noticed.” Lupa could almost hear a smile in his voice, like he found her anger amusing.

            “Therefore, we are strangers still.” He didn’t say anything in reply, and as they continued to walk towards the small hiding place, she begrudgingly realized that he was going to follow her no matter what she did. She couldn’t very well tie him up and toss him to the side, could she? Lupa side-eyed him as he stepped up and walked shoulder to shoulder with her, and she let out a disgruntled snort. No, she couldn’t very well tie up a mage that required no staff to do magic. She’d have better luck attempting to herd cats.

            “I have a question, if you don’t mind.” Solas stated pleasantly.

            “That doesn’t ensure that there will be an answer.”

            “I am curious about your lack of magic usage. I have yet to come across an elf, even a forsworn one, that did not leap at the new abilities given. You have not tried to hone your newfound talents.” Lupa opened her mouth to snap about his casual reference to _her kind_ , the forsworn, but the back of her throat tightened, and her eyes watered without her consent.

            _I remember the blood. And the screaming._

            She blinked rapidly to banish the dark thoughts, and her lips pressed down into thin, angry line.

            “That isn’t a question.” She snapped.

            “My question is: why?” Lupa glanced back to ensure that they weren’t being followed, then scrambled up onto the rocks and tucked herself into a hiding place that would still give her a general view of everything around her. She wasn’t surprised to see the elf settle himself in across from her, the pack that’d been strapped to his back beside him.

            “Not everyone was happy when the Veil was torn apart.” Lupa informed him.

            “Yes, but I thought that it was humans that disliked the events that occurred after.” He had a long, strong jaw, and he rubbed it lightly, like he could feel the burning stare she focused onto him.

            “If it was only humans that disagreed, then there wouldn’t be people like me.”

            “This is true.”

            The silence settled between them once more, Lupa sizing up her unwelcome partner, the mage considering her with an odd expression on his face. She wondered if all mages that were not part of the proper military were like him, or if she had been the unlucky one that stumbled in on a potentially heat-damaged elf. Could it be called unlucky, though? He _had_ saved her. That much was obvious and unable to be argued. Lupa let out an irritable grunt, and she shifted and peered out into the burning wasteland. None of the Emerald Knights were in sight.

            “I’m going to wait until nightfall. Do what you will.”

            “I shall follow along, if it is all the same to you. I am curious to see how the forsworn live, and where your path will lead.”

            “You’re curious about a great many things.” Lupa accused, glancing back to him.

            “I am.” Solas agreed.

* * *

 

            Night fell, and Lupa broke camp, if the small hiding place she’d found could be called a camp. Her mysterious companion did not say anything more as they had sat in the blazing sun; he watched their surroundings, and he dozed against the rock behind him, utterly at ease with his lot in life. Lupa was too stressed to sleep. She watched him for a good while, certain that he was going to attack her. When he didn’t, she decided to watch the birds overhead, waiting for darkness to drape over the hot sands and ease the discomfort of her armor chafing against her irritated skin.

            The moment that she departed from her hiding place though, the mage had awoken and wordlessly followed her, his footsteps silent in the shifting and dangerous sand. Lupa cast him a baleful glance, but he merely smiled politely and motioned for her to continue.

            They traveled in silence, her lope long-legged and graceful, a walk that wasn’t quite a walk. It was far too quick and far too even to be called such a thing. Lupa mimicked it from other scavengers like herself, animals that traveled long distances in short spurts of time, hunkering on the fringes of society. It was a mindless pace, something that she didn’t have to think on. Instead, her mind mapped out the route that would take her around the edges of Velun where she could, hopefully, trade some of her supplies for a new necessities with some of the other forsworn. If she was lucky, she could go even farther east in order to make it to Ferelden. She would have to avoid the Dales, though. One of the largest cities of the Elvhen resided there, some of the most zealous of elves stalking its grounds to bring ‘traitors’ to justice.

            A light in the sky jerked Lupa out of her reverie, her steps skipping and then stopping as she looked up, her hands instinctively reaching for her blades. She heard the hiss of sand behind her and knew that Solas had also stopped.

            “What in the…” She muttered.

            A brilliant streak of white flared across the stars, far too close for comfort. The light faded and burned out, but before Lupa could wonder if it was safe to let down her guard, a surge of light burst into the sky, blinding her with its intensity. She let go of the handle of one of her blades in order to cover her eyes, her teeth bared into a snarl.

            The air crackled and roared with an electric buzz, and when something whistled past her face, Lupa dropped into a roll and found the nearest cover, her eyes narrowed into slits. Solas followed suit, his shoulder pressing against hers.

            “What is that?” She demanded, a kernel of fear in her gut. The tunnel of light did not fade, merely rose up and up and up into the sky, reaching for the heavens.

            “I do not know.” Solas said calmly. “Although it doesn’t look safe.”

            “Is it the Emerald Knights?”

            “I do not sense them nearby, no.”

            Lupa wasn’t sure if she trusted his claim, but she didn’t have anything else to go on. If it wasn’t the Emerald Knights, just who was lighting up the Western Approach in the middle of the night? She shook her head roughly. She didn’t have to know who it was. All that she knew was that if the light was in _that_ direction, then Lupa was going to go in the _other_ direction. After ensuring that the light didn’t tunnel towards her to devour her, Lupa slunk away, scanning the horizon and ignoring the light at her back. The one general rule of survival as a forsworn was that you moved away from the danger, _not_ towards it.

            Another glow distracted her from an escape though, something that lay half-buried in the sand. Was it the object that’d rushed past her in the explosion of light? Lupa frowned and squatted down to it, studying the object intently. It was as smooth as a polished stone, and it glowed with a pulsing, eerie light. When the light grew brighter, she leapt up and away, growling a low curse under her breath. She felt the presence of Solas close behind her, and she looked back at him.

            “You do not know what this is, either?” She asked? Instead of the calm, serene expression from before though, she noted a tense furrow in his brow, as well as the faint lines of anger around his mouth. He studied the object with a scrutiny that was near-maddening, and Lupa had enough sense to know that whatever the orb was, it couldn’t be good.

            “Let’s just…go.” She moved to skirt around the orb, to avoid its secretive dangers entirely, the light of the strange beacon behind her and darkness on the horizon. As she passed it though, there was a whisper that tickled the back of her mind and made her stop in her tracks. A tremor passed down her spine, and she held her blades tightly.

            _Take the orb_.

            She looked back at Solas, but he had not moved from his previous place, his gaze directed balefully at the orb. His lips pressed into a thin, angry line.

            “Solas?” She called out to him. He did not look up, though; if anything, he hadn’t heard her. She frowned and looked around for someone else that could have spoken, but there was nothing more than the whisper of the wind on the sand, the steady thrum of the light that shone behind them. She cleared her throat uncomfortably.

            “I’m leaving.” She declared, but still he did not move. She let out a snort of derision, and she turned and began to walk once more.

            _Take the orb_.

            She stopped again and turned around, her hackles rising.

            “Are you speaking into my mind?” She demanded furiously. That was what caused Solas to look up, his expression rippling and smoothing away his harsh expression, replacing it with genuine confusion.

            “Are you hearing voices? That is dangerous in times like this.” His voice was pleasant, but she could sense the serrated edge beneath it.

            “If you are playing games with me…” Lupa’s voice trembled, but she couldn’t tell if it was fear or anger that drove the wavering. Solas smiled.

            “If I wanted to play games with you, I would have started them long ago.”

            “You’re mad.” Lupa declared. She glanced from him and then to the orb, her grip adjusting on the handles of her weapons. “Whatever it is you’re trying to do, I’m not interested. So you can take this stupid orb, and you can get the hell away from me.”

            “I find it interesting that you know it’s an orb. Have you seen it before?” Solas inquired. Lupa growled, low and primal in the back of her throat. Without stopping to think of the consequences, she swung her leg back and punted the orb towards him, afraid of his intentions, afraid of the power that seemed to pulse from the item, and afraid of the tingle in her veins that urged her to touch an obviously dangerous item.

            That was when everything went black.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

            Consciousness came in waves, sliding over Lupa as smoothly as silk then dragging bits of her mind back to the real world as the water receded. A wave rolled over her, and she smelled the homey scent of wood-smoke and herbs. Another wave, and she could hear the sound of a couple of people breathing, far too heavy to be someone not under some sort of strain or stress. Another wave, and she could feel every single ache in her body, a hammer that drove every bruise home so that it counted. Another wave, and Lupa felt the shackles on her wrist and knew that she was imprisoned.

            Her eyes flew open, and she scrambled up to a sitting position, her moves panicked and quick enough that it shocked the guard in front of her into unsheathing his sword. Her wild green eyes took in his appearance in snippets: rounded eyes, rounded ears, and rounded cheeks. A human. She leaned away from the point of his blade and bared her teeth.

            “Someone get Lady Cassandra!” He squawked, and the human behind her –the one that she’d heard breathing heavily –broke into a run and raced down a line of tents that led away from them. Lupa stared the guard down that stood before her, and she dismissed him with a sneer, looking around the place that she lay prisoner in.

            It was a campsite in the Western Approach, one of meager supplies and meager appearance. Lupa was chained to a post that’d been struck into the ground, her chains long enough to give her room to move, but not long enough to give her a chance to escape. The sand was cool beneath her, and the moon shone high overhead, showing that it was a little past midnight. She rolled her head around in order to gain her bearing and direction should the ability to run ever present itself, and she feigned that she was disoriented.

            The sound of shouting drew her attention to the guard that’d run away so quickly, and before she could blink, she was hauled up by a woman that looked close to murder, her dark eyes narrowed to slits.

            “Explain to me why we shouldn't kill you right now.” She growled, an accent on her tongue that Lupa couldn’t place. Though she still knew of the old countries and borders, ten years of fighting had dulled her knowledge of the people and the cultures that once existed. There was only enemy and non-enemy. Lupa had grown to realize that there were far more enemies than non-enemies. The bloodshed made sure of that. She sized up the woman before her that looked as though she could easily snap a person’s neck, and she pressed her lips tightly together.

            The woman shook her roughly and threw her back, her fury causing her to pace before Lupa in a frenzy. Her hair was cropped short, her armor thickly padded and intricately detailed. At her side, a wicked and deadly sword swung with her sharp movements.

            “Months of careful planning, months of hard work and blood, and you ruin it in less than a breath. Are you a spy? Are you an Emerald Knight?” The woman rounded on her, and her lip curled into a sneer. “Are you one of their slaves?”

            “I am no such thing.” Lupa snapped. The woman considered her appearance briefly, her own sneer impressively condescending.

            “You do bare the markings that they have systematically removed from their ranks. You are forsworn, then?” She demanded. Behind her, the round-faced boy stepped away from his apparent leader’s fury.

            “I want to know why I have been taken prisoner. I have committed no crime.”

            “You claim innocence?” The woman was incredulous. “You claim you had nothing to do with what has happened?”

            “If I knew what was happening, then I could potentially provide answers!” Lupa snarled. She wasn’t quite sure why she was baiting the woman that could easily dismember her with a flick of her wrist. She wasn’t sure where her blades or her bow was, but she could certainly expect that they were kept under careful lock and key. This woman would have the key. She needed to play _nice_.

            “You are telling me that you know nothing about _this_?” The woman lunged, and before Lupa could evade her, her boot was ripped from her leg and tossed unceremoniously away from her. Her stocking followed after it, and the appearance of her leg stopped her from lashing out.

            A lazy, pulsing white light curled up from her foot an intricate network of filigree that danced around her ankle and swirled along her calf, the light flashing before her eyes and sending sharp-shooting pains into her memory.

            _The sound of shouting, of someone shaking her_

_Horses neighing and thundering by, their hooves close enough to crush her_

_The sound of armor and of grief as she was hauled up, curses rough in her ear_

_The expression of dismay from a face as solemn as the grave_

Lupa jerked her leg from the woman’s hold, and she nearly clawed up the post that kept her bound, only her desperate desire to not look weak keeping her from screeching in fear. Magic. There was magic in her skin. Magic in her veins. That damned orb did something to her. The light flickered and danced with her frantic pulse.

            “Get it off of me!” She shouted, and it was then that the woman’s face flickered with –dare she say it? –pity. The expression shifted once more though, and her glare returned.

            “You claim innocence?”

            “I was attacked!”

            “By whom?” The woman thundered.

            “By that orb! It must have latched itself onto me!” Lupa resisted the urge to hold her leg as far away from her body as possible. A kernel of disgust roiled around inside of her. Creators above, there was magic in her veins. “Remove this marking!”

            The woman sighed, an irritated noise that showed the depth of her own rage. She began pacing once more, one hand on the pommel of her sword. Lupa’s blades gave her strength, and it seemed that this woman was no different. The difference being though, that Lupa did not have her blades to hold. She had nothing but a wicked, awful looking mark. The firelight flickered across her captor's lethal cheekbones and gave her eyes an eerie expression.

            “We have tried. You have been unconscious for three days, and in that time, nothing has worked.”

            “Three…days?” The words sounded like a foreign language to her, wrong from lack of familiarity. She couldn’t have been out for that long; it was impossible!

            “Yes. Our healers have done their best, but that mark has continued to spread along your body. If it reaches your heart, you will surely die.” The woman’s words were a blow to the chest, each one designed to stun. Lupa gaped, her mouth dropping open. Remembering her position as their prisoner, she quickly clamped her mouth shut. She would _not_ look like a victim.

            “How quickly is it spreading?” She asked. Facts. She needed facts. She couldn’t help herself if she didn’t know just what she was dealing with.

            “Now that the tunnel has abated, it has stopped spreading.”

            “Tunnel?” Lupa frowned, confused.

            “You don’t know?” The woman’s frown was far superior to Lupa’s own. It carved lines into a face that would otherwise sit as smooth and unyielding as marble. “You truly do not know the events that have transpired here?”

            “If I knew, believe me, I would not be in this situation. I’d be halfway to Ferelden.” Lupa replied.

            “What lies in Ferelden?” The woman demanded suspiciously.

            “A reprieve from the Emerald Knights that are setting up camp here.”

            That brought a stunned silence from her captor, a faltering in her steps that did not go unnoticed. She moved closer and grabbed Lupa’s shoulder.

            “You have seen them?” Lupa nodded, and the grip on her shoulder tightened. “How many?”

            “An entire regiment is making its way west as we speak.”

            The woman stepped back, her mouth dropping open before she also remembered to snap it shut, also not wanting to appear weak in front of her prisoner. She glanced around, her shoulders settling into stiff, firm lines.

            “Untie the prisoner. She needs to see exactly what we’re dealing with.”

            What they were dealing with? Lupa would have gaped, but it seemed hardly the time or the place. Her chains were removed, although they were replaced with shorter shackles that ensured supreme difficulty if she attempted to attack someone. She scowled impressively at the round-faced boy, and he cowered under her stare. The woman strode away from them, and despite missing her boot and sock, Lupa followed after her, unsure if it would be wise to remind the woman that she was missing some of her clothes. Judging by the lethal amount of weaponry that the woman yielded as easily as though it weighed nothing more than a feather, Lupa figured that speaking was unnecessary. She'd retrieve them later. Hopefully.

            The camp was still wide awake despite the late hour, some people on watch, others carrying messages to and from commanders or leaders, and others merely sitting outside of their tents, warily sharpening or preparing weapons. Lupa studied them, unsurprised to see not a single elf among them. Although the company was small, they seemed to be of high rank and position. When her captor passed by, the people stopped their actions in order to bow their head respectfully.

            “We only brought a small contingent here. We didn’t wish to be detected.” The woman informed her curtly.

            “You are their leader?” Lupa asked warily.

            “Yes. I am Cassandra Pentaghast, one of the leaders of our group. There are several others.” Cassandra steered Lupa towards the edge of the camp where nothing but stars revealed themselves, the rest of the world draped in darkness. Cassandra stood close enough that the heat of her shoulder radiated against Lupa’s skin, and she frowned, wishing to shy away from it. Human contact made her skin crawl.

            “…What exactly am I supposed to be seeing?” Lupa asked when nothing revealed itself.

            “That is precisely the problem.” Cassandra sighed again, a world-weary sigh. She turned to Lupa and stared down at her, though without the fire light from before, Lupa could only see vague outlines.

            “The problem?”

            “Did you see the beacon of light that made the sky as clear as day three days ago?” At Lupa’s slow, uneasy nod, Cassandra plodded on. “Ten years ago, when the Elven god Fen’Harel tore apart the veil, spirits and demons were free to roam the land as though it were their own.”

            “Yes.” Lupa agreed, her voice calm despite the shudder that passed along her bones. “He tore apart the veil and gave elves their magic from before, from the time of Arlathan.”

            “Yes, and he also set loose demons and vicious predators that stalk this land. We are able to protect ourselves with wards that can keep them at bay in small locations, but as a forsworn, you surely have seen them and have had to fight against them?”

            Lupa nodded reluctantly, vague and distant memories of her battles against the unearthly small blips against the true danger of running into a human being in the flesh. Spirits did not harm Lupa. They often flitted by and pointed out an oasis or a source of food, their forms differing and as varied as the leaves in a forest of trees. Sometimes she would cross paths with an abomination, but those were people that’d lost control, something that Lupa was used to seeing. War made everyone lose their mind once in a while, and she was always prepared to help them to a quick and easy end. She couldn’t very well say that to a human though, could she? Shems had always been quick to denounce those that did not fear spirits. No, no, it wasn’t the spirits that Lupa feared. It was the people that twisted them into demons.

            “Recent investigations have led us to conclude that Fen’Harel was not actually attempting to return the magic to your people. His motives were different, although you would not hear an elf say so.” The shift in Cassandra’s stance revealed her discomfort in speaking so flippantly in front of an elf. If Lupa had not been chained, she would have thrown her hands up and laughed.

            “What do you think he was doing, then?”

            “He was trying to release the other gods of your pantheon.”

            “You’re lying.” The words fell out of Lupa’s mouth before she could truly consider them, although in the silence that she was met with, she didn’t regret it. It was a knee-jerk reaction, and a logical one at that. Fen’Harel, the trickster god. Fen’Harel, the wicked monster that locked the other gods away and led the elves to chaos. Fen’Harel, the wolf that had haunted Lupa’s dreams as a child. Fen’Harel, the rebel that tore the veil apart with his bare hands and brought chaos to the people as the magic rained down upon them.

            “I am not.” Cassandra snapped.

            “He locked the gods away, Cassandra Pentaghast. Have you not heard the tales?” Lupa’s tone was mocking, biting.

            “Yes, and after however many centuries, he longed to undo his actions.”

            “Then where are they, I wonder?” Lupa made a show of looking around dramatically. “If they were released, why do you not have Fen’Harel’s head on a pike?”

            “What do you know of that?” Cassandra demanded.

            “I know enough, Seeker Cassandra. I know of your Inquisition, those that wished to bring Fen’Harel to justice for his actions. You split against the humans and have supposedly taken in people of all kinds, preaching that you would hold the mighty elven god accountable for his deeds.”

            “How do you know of this?”

            “One does not live as a forsworn without knowing their enemies. Knowing your enemy teaches you how to evade them.”

            “You mock us?” If she could have seen the human before her properly, Lupa would have sworn that she was shaking in rage.

            “Of course! Did you think that attempting to summon a god of _my_ people would save you from death? Do you honestly think that Fen’Harel, the one that turned against his own brothers and sisters, would try and release them? They would tear him apart, and they would tear you apart for even asking.”

            “When they are first found, they are weak. They do not have their power, and the key to their power is locked inside something that is called a foci. If we have their foci, we have them under our control.” Cassandra’s barely restrained anger was almost laughable, if her words weren’t so chilling.

            “Why do you say that like you have found one of the creators?” Lupa asked. Her words were slow, wary.

            “We have found two of them. We have their foci. That beacon,” Cassandra jabbed her finger into the darkness in front of them, “signaled another deity falling. Before we could reach them though, you touched their foci and it has done something to you. Whatever bargaining chip we could have had is now possibly gone.”

            “…And where is this supposed god?” Lupa’s tongue felt as heavy as lead, the roof of her mouth as dry as cotton. This wasn’t happening. She was hearing things. She was still asleep, lost in an ocean of sub-consciousness.

            “We do not know. We saw another beacon of light and reached you before we reached them. By the time that we apprehended you, the original beacon of light was gone, as well as the god that had created it. We reasoned that the second light we saw was you touching the foci.”

            Lupa did not know what to say. She opened her mouth, but no words fell from her lips. Her mind was reeling, her heart having slowed down far too much to be healthy. Could it be possible that Fen’Harel had attempted to free his brothers and sisters and caused something else entirely? Could it be possible that they had actually found the creators that she’d once prayed to as a child? What did Cassandra mean when she said that they were weak? Or was all of this a carefully concocted lie? Though most of what Lupa had heard about the Inquisition was rumor, it was true that they seemed to be a champion for those in need. Supposedly. A chill crawled through the air, but when she attempted to lift her hands to rub her arms, she remembered the shackles and let her hands fall before her.

            “I know that this is a lot to take in. But we are desperate to end this war with no more death, and if the only way that we can manage this is to recruit the gods from before to rise against their brother, then we must do it. Both sides have lost far too many. Children take arms and fall. No mother should have to bury their child. No father should have to stand side-by-side with his son and die with them.” Cassandra’s voice was bitter, mournful. Had she lost someone close to her? Lupa frowned.

            “This is under the assumption that my gods would even wish to help you. History has made them seem not-so kind, even to their own people.”

            “That is just it, though.” Cassandra said, and if Lupa didn’t know any better, she’d have sounded eager. “The two that we have found wish to bring revenge down upon their brother for his actions. If they wish it, surely the others will as well.”

            “Who have you found?” Lupa whispered, and creators, it sounded like her voice shook. She could almost taste the days from before, when she had danced before the fires with her clan and sang praises to the creators that blessed them with the knowledge that set the Dalish apart from the rest. If she blinked, she was sure she’d see her clan mates as they kneeled before the Keeper, ready for the blood writing that would pledge them in the service and honor of the gods. But that wasn’t so, was it? Supposedly, the Elvhen had found the truth of the creators as they prowled the Fade with their newfound power. The creators hadn’t cared for them. They’d never had love for their people. They were cruel, and Arlathan fell because of the elves, not Tevinter. For someone that’d grown in the ways of the Dalish, it’d been a bitter herb to swallow, but Lupa had taken it in stride. But this…this was rubbing salt into a wound that had once been thought of as healed.

            “One that is called Falon’Din, and one that is called Ghilan’nain.” Cassandra replied. Lupa resisted the urge to reach up and touch marks that she knew would still be there, plain as day and all but damning on her face. Thankfully, her binds wouldn’t allow it.

            “Then what is it that you want me to do?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “You didn’t waste all of this time explaining things because you like me. You want something from me.” Lupa said, and although her voice sounded as rough as gravel, she felt as weak as flower stem left far too long in water. As if to remind her that she had good reason to feel that way, the light along her foot and calf flared and hissed.

            “You somehow absorbed something from that foci. It is killing you. Perhaps if you were to find the god or goddess whose foci you stole power from, they could free you from the mark and join forces with us in order to stop Fen’Harel and his Elvhen that are keen on destroying the world.”

            “That’s what you think they want?” Lupa snapped, and a bitter laugh burned her throat with acid. “You think that elves wish to see an end to the world?”

            “That is not entirely it, no, but-”

            “They are _angry_. They want humans to see the kind of suffering that they were forced to see from the time that each and every one of them were born and first took breath. They want to feel the power that humans were born with, the privilege that came with rounded ears and an overzealous religion to shape them. They don’t want to destroy the world. They want to rule it the same way that your kind has for thousands of years.”

            “If you feel that way, then why haven’t you joined them? Why are you forsworn and skulking about in the middle of the night, alone?” Cassandra retorted.

            “…Because I don’t want to be like the humans. You’ve ruled the world for this long, and look what you’ve done with it. What use do the Elvhen have in trying to be like you?” She looked away from Cassandra and stared out into the bleak dessert, wondering where Solas was, and if the odd elf had managed to slink away before Cassandra had come barreling into the fray. Thinking of his ridiculously powerful magic, it was safe to assume that he’d gotten away. Lucky him.

            “I know that you have no reason to trust us. But if you help us find the fallen god, then perhaps they can help you as well. You will be released, and you can go back to whatever path you’d previously been wandering. If Fen’Harel somehow senses them though, he may find them first. We can’t allow that to happen. Please…will you help the Inquisition?”

            Lupa looked down at her shackles, iron long enough to give her some movement, but not long enough to do her any good. It seemed that life had been like that ever since the sky had fallen down on them and made her world a living nightmare. Life had hobbled her, given her enough rope to hold on, but not so much that she could haul herself back up onto her feet. She sighed, considered her options, and then laughed silently to herself. Once, she would have been told that the creators were testing her. Now, she knew that it was just rotten, awful luck.

            “I will do what I can, Cassandra Pentaghast.”

            “That is all that I can ask.” Cassandra gravely replied.

* * *

 

            She was given a bedroll, a tent, and her boot and sock were presented sheepishly to her upon their arrival back to camp. She noted the lack of weaponry that’d been presented, but she didn’t question it. Cassandra may have been pleased that she wanted to pitch in, but that didn’t mean that the woman would arm someone that she didn’t know. After the shackles had been removed from her wrist, Lupa chose a secluded place in the camp, towards the edge of the tents and away from prying eyes. She ignored the tent, although she did not abandon the future possibilities of using parts of it for materials later, and she sat cross-legged on the bed roll, inspecting her foot.

            It was a curious mark, a faint glowing white that started at the point that her foot had made contact with the ‘foci’. The filigree was odd, a twisting and turning leaf-like vine that danced along her veins, a macabre tattoo that pulsed with the flow of her blood. She poked it experimentally, but it didn’t grow with her touch. It stopped mid-calf, and she wondered what it was that had made the mark begin growing in the first place.

            “You aren’t dead.” Lupa looked up sharply, her sock already sliding up her foot to cover the sign of a moment of weakness. Her boot followed it, and she stretched out on her bedroll as she eyed the elf that stood before her. Though the movement seemed lazy, it allowed her to shift her weight so that she could leap up at a moment’s chance.

            “You weren’t captured.” She replied pointedly. Solas sat down in the sand at the edge of her bed roll, his eyes grave in the dim light of the camp.

            “I didn’t wish to be chained to a post the way that you were. It looked uncomfortable.”

            “It was.”

            “I do apologize. I did not know that when you kicked the orb, it would react in such a dramatic fashion.” He rested his hands on his knees, a peaceful gesture. For some reason, it made Lupa grind her teeth.

            “It is called a foci.” She informed him. Solas nodded thoughtfully.

            “I wondered if they would educate you on the matter or not.”

            “Do you know these people?” Lupa demanded.

            “By word of deed, though not by meeting. Lady Cassandra Pentaghast has a history of heroic exploits that are difficult to ignore.” Solas looked up to the sky, and overhead a star fell. Lupa followed its movement, her own posture certainly not as casual as her counterpart’s.

            “They have wards set up around the camp. How did you enter?”

            “I am no demon. The wards didn’t stop me.” Solas smiled. It was a difficult sort of smile though. Lupa didn’t know him, but she could see a certain sort of craftiness to the edges of his grin, like he had a world of secrets but no one to tell them to.

            “No, but you did stay in the general vicinity for days on end without getting caught. Apparently, I slept for three days.”

            “After exposure to that sort of power, your body had to fight its way back to freedom.”

            “Do you know what’s happening to me, Solas?” Lupa whispered. It was also a dangerous sort of thing, to sound even remotely vulnerable to someone that you didn’t trust. Predators liked to wait until their prey thought they were safe, and then they struck. What choice did she have, though? She was in a camp full of humans, and the only elf around happened to be one that saved her from the Emerald Knights, elves that would have delighted in tearing her apart. She tried to appear nonchalant, like her question was of no import. She knew that Solas could sense the lie, though.

            “You have been exposed to an ancient power, something that your body doesn’t know how to combat. Coupled with your own fear of magic-”

            “I’m not afraid of magic.” Lupa snapped.

            “-your body is trying to reject it completely, the same way that you have undoubtedly rejected your own power.”

            “Is the mark going to kill me?” She asked. Again, she was blasé, but again there was a bubble of fear in her stomach.

            “It could. It depends upon what you do, I suppose. Will you find the ancient being that they wish for you to track? Or will you run at the first given opportunity?”

            “I suppose that I don’t have a choice. By running, I would be consumed by whatever the mark is.”

            “Yes, but you do risk angering an ancient elven god if you manage to find them and then offend them. Death could fall from either side.” His smile was genuine, but his voice was bitter and filled with resentment. Lupa regarded him in the stillness of the night, and she wondered at his words from before, when he’d said that if he wanted to play a game with her, he’d have started it long ago. It would be foolish to think that he wasn’t part of this in some grand scheme of things, but what exactly was the end goal for the odd elf? Was she even in a position to find out?

            “I do not fear the gods. Not the way that I used to.” Solas let out a harsh, guttural bark.

            “Oh, but you would fear Fen’Harel if he slunk into camp? He is the curse on the lips of everyone that is not 'Elvhen'.”

            “I do not fear Fen’Harel. He should fear me, and everyone else that has lost something precious at the hands of his madness.” The words crackled in the air, a violence in them that was far too unforgiving for the gentle night. Solas considered her, a tilt to his head that was almost wolfish, his lips pressed into a flat line.

            “I would not allow anger for the god Fen’Harel to cloud your judgement. Old stories from spirits tell us that some of the other gods made him appear almost tame. Do not take the ear of one that may bring nothing but more destruction to the land in the sake for passing judgement on another.” He commented mildly.

            “If they can remove this mark from me, then I had better take the risk.”

            “Or die trying.” Solas reminded her.

            “Or die trying.” Lupa agreed. In the far distance, the sound of a wild dog’s howl stroked the fires of fear that danced inside of her veins. Lupa had been playing a wicked dance with death for years, now. Death was a partner, a lover whose embrace teased at the edges of her mind every single day that she woke. Death wasn’t something to fear. It was how you died that mattered. Lupa would not die running, the knife striking her in the back. She would die with dignity, her head held high. Die trying, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that gave me kudos/comments/hits/bookmarks! I'm glad that you guys are enjoying this so far. I originally started with my Inquisitor Lupa Lavellan on Tumblr under Solastolemyvhenan, and someone suggested that I start putting my works onto Ao3 because it was easier to read. If you like her, there is plenty of stories and short blurbs that I have of her on that tumblr page. Thanks!


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

            The air was just as hot and just as sticky as it had been four days before. It was probably just as hot and sticky as the day before, but apparently, Lupa had been unconscious and unable to testify to that accurately.

            She adjusted the scarf that she’d tied around her nose to keep the sand out of her mouth, and she flexed her grip on the reins of the horse she’d been given as she waited for the small party that’d accompanied her. The horse was perfectly suited for the desert, sure-footed and light, its hooves finding the sturdy places in the sand that shifted and moved at the slightest provocation. As Cassandra Pentaghast reached the small hill that Lupa waited on, Lupa idly patted the horse’s neck.

            “We are nearing the place where the deity fell.” Cassandra stated, and Lupa nodded, squinting ahead into the sun. It was mid-morning, but already the heat pressed down insistently, demanding their full attention. If Lupa was lucky, they’d be able to find the trail of the supposed god early and take shelter before the sun hit the highest point of the sky and boiled them alive. Taking into account what’d happened to her thus far, she wasn’t going to bet on luck.

            “And how do you suppose that we will find the trail in a place where the ground is always moving?” Another horse pulled up beside them, and Lupa glanced at the other companion of the party, a dwarf that was so utterly cheerful that it was almost painful. When he met Lupa’s stare, he winked at her.

            “There are other signs that were left that we want you to inspect. Perhaps seeing them will jolt something in the mark.” Cassandra sounded bitter, angry. Then again, when she’d attempted to wake Lupa up in the wee hours of the morning, ready to begin her hunt, she’d been surprised to find Lupa already awake, watching her. The idea that Lupa would sleep after waking as a prisoner to humans was almost laughable, but it’d embarrassed the woman all the same.

            “Maybe her foot will start glowing again.” Varric was his name, and although his boots had to be filled with sand, he was grinning like a king. Cassandra rolled her eyes.

            “Enough, Varric.”

            “I’d prefer it not, if it was all the same.” Lupa glanced down at her leg warily. If she concentrated long enough, she could almost feel the thrum that pulsated with her heartbeat, a power that she did not know, nor could she contain. She gritted her teeth and lightly tapped the horse’s flanks with her heels. The desert-bred horse complied with the light touch and started along the path once more, tossing its mane.

            “You know the tale of Fen’Harel and the others, don’t you?” Cassandra asked. Lupa glanced back at her, hesitated, and then nodded with a quick jerk of her head.

            “Yes.”

            “Do you know how the Elvhen tell it, now?”

            “Yes.”

            “Be careful, Seeker Cassandra. We have a chatty one in our midst.” Varric laughed at his own joke, and Lupa peered out onto the horizon, scanning it for any sign. Be it a supposed deity or an entire regiment of Emerald Knights, she wanted to be ready.

            “They say that Fen’Harel locked the others of the pantheon away because they were power-hungry and used the people to their advantage. He wanted to create a free people, one that did not use the poor and the weak as stepping stones.” Cassandra spoke slowly, uncomfortably. “But the chaos led to in-fighting. The Elvhen say that Fen’Harel tore apart the veil and released the magic to the people because he finally had the means to free them at last. They claim that he made the veil because he had to lock the other gods away for their misdeeds.”

            “Why should you care what they think?” Lupa asked.

            “The ones that we have spoken with do not wish to make war with their people. They only wish to make war with Fen’Harel. They say they were falsely accused.” She wouldn’t say their names. Falon’Din and Ghilan’nain. Lupa let out a soft huff of breath, wondering if this was all some grand trick. Surely she was not hunting down a deity of the pantheon she once worshipped, accompanied by a dwarf and a human? Surely a human was not attempting to understand old Dalish legend and compare it to the fantasy that they lived now?

            “Then how to you think that the fighting will stop?” Lupa asked dryly.

            “Usually when a god is involved, people are far more willing to listen.” Varric stated, and she didn’t have to glance back to know that he was going to be sporting a wry smile.

            “And how do you control the god when they decide that they no longer wish to listen?”

            “Their foci is their power. While they have need of us, they will help us.”

            “What about after that?” Lupa frowned, pulling the reins and stopping her horse, taking note of a disturbance in the distance. “When they have their power and they are finished helping you?” She glanced at Cassandra, letting the question hang in the air.

            “We will find a way to lock them all away again.” Cassandra said firmly.

            “…It will be interesting to see how you think you will lock away a god, let alone a pantheon, after you restore their power. Beings that have been repressed, when finally given a taste of freedom, seldom wish to return to what brought them so low in the first place. They will destroy him in revenge, perhaps, but they will not then slink to a cave to wither away. Your Inquisition is walking a fine line to victory.” She looked back to the horizon and squinted, but the haze of the heat and the sand made it difficult to see too far. The back of Lupa's neck prickled in warning.

            “We have a writer on our hands, Seeker Cassandra.” Varric said cheerfully. “Or at least a poet.”

            “Get down.” Lupa ordered, and as the words fell from her lips, she was already sliding off of her horse and into the sand. Be it the intensity of her voice or the quickness of her actions, Cassandra followed after her immediately, her sword half-drawn from its sheath. A breath later, Varric followed.

            “What do you see?” Cassandra whispered, barely a sound escaping her lips. Lupa caught the sound, though, the same way that she caught the thrum of magic in the air, tasted the bitter scent of something burning. Slowly, pain-stakingly, she inched up and peeked over the dune, pulling her scarf up more so that less of her skin was visible.

            Down below, a small squad of Emerald Knights explored the area.

            “Fenedhis…” She murmured, and she watched them pick their way over the sand, as light as feathers but as lethal as a finely honed knife. One of them used their palm to sweep wide swathes of sand aside while another sniffed along the ground, their mannerisms resembling that of a dog. The wind shifted, and Lupa tensed. The elf didn’t smell her though, far too intent on whatever it was that they were searching for below. She counted once, twice, three times, and the slid back down to Cassandra and shook her head slowly.

            “Seven.” She whispered, and she heard a short intake of breath from Varric. Seven. Against seven humans, the Elvhen would win, unless the humans had the same wild variety of power that thrummed in their veins the way that the Elvhen did. Against ten humans, they’d struggle. Against a forsworn, one human, and one dwarf, it would hardly be a battle. It would hardly be called a squabble. It would be a massacre.

            “We can’t circle around.” Varric murmured. "It dips in the land.”

            “We can’t go back.” Cassandra hissed. “They must be searching for what we are searching for.”

            “What do you propose, then? I did not survive this long to die at the hands of the Emerald Knights, human.” Lupa hissed. The look Cassandra gave her would have soured milk, but she shoved her sword back into its sheath and looked down at the sand beneath her, as though it could give her the answers that she wanted. Instead of waiting on her to think of something miraculous though, Lupa slid back up to peer over the small hill, her stomach curdling. Not only was she tied into the tricky business of attempting to hunt down a god, but she was going against the Emerald Knights in order to do it. Tracking a god? Impossible. Attempting to do so with the strongest military known to Thedas at your throat?

            If she still truly believed in the creators, she’d have prayed to them.

            She watched their movements and marked their habits, abilities that they used with little to no thought. Each one used magic; it was an innate part of their being ever since Fen’Harel had torn open the veil. It seemed to come to them as naturally as breathing. The wind blew and ruffled Lupa’s scarf, and one of them idly flicked their hand, pushing away sand that flew up towards their face.

            The wind blew.

            She tensed, but it was too late. The one that sniffed at the ground stiffened and lifted their head, yellow eyes piercing Lupa and pinning her into place. The elf growled, and suddenly the other elves were drawing their weapons, guttural and furious curses lifting from their lips as they spotted Lupa.

            She didn’t hesitate.

            From her pack she threw down powders that exploded against the earth, sending billowing curls of smoke around her that allowed her enough time to race to the side, narrowly avoiding an arrow that whistled and imbedded itself into the sand. She heard both Varric and Cassandra curse from below, and she shifted to the side and drew out her small crossbow, fitting a bolt into it and firing it with barely a spare glance towards her foes. There was a shriek, and a whooping cry from the others as one of the knights fell. One down. Six to go.

            Lupa raced along the side of the hill and then crested it, drawing a knife and leaping into the fray, dodging a spell that reeked of burnt leaves as it whistled past her nose. She slammed her knife against the gauntlet of an elf, growling as the elf purred a greeting and slung her back. Another smoke bomb erupted around the elves, presumably from Varric, and Lupa used it as an opportunity to swipe an elf’s legs out from under them, her knife kissing their throat too deeply for survival. A boot came from the side and punted her, sending her sprawling, and she felt a kernel of anger spike in her gut along with the adrenaline that coursed through her veins like electricity.

            She heard a battle cry tear from the lips of Cassandra, and one of the elves shouted in turn, their blade crossing over to meet their foe eagerly. She heard the chanting in Elvish, the fury and the hunger, and as Lupa stood up to circle the knights that were quickly organizing and assembling, it chilled her to her core.

            “ _We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit. Our blood is our power, and in our blood are we free. May the Dread Wolf forever take me.”_

            A spell flashed, and Cassandra dodged it, the spell igniting a fire that spread across the sand, keeping power without fuel. From atop the hill, Varric fire arrows down upon them, but Lupa found herself dodging those as well as spell that poured from lips that directed their power with no staff to aid them. These were the people that Lupa avoided. These were the people that kept her awake at all hours of the night, their strength crippling all that lived around them. They would not stop for questions. They would not bother for mercy. They would kill in the name of Fen’Harel, and they would do it with a smile.

            Lupa leapt about and twisted, but a mage slipped up from behind and she felt the force of his earth spell as a rock slammed into her stomach and sent her reeling back against him, his knife coming up to her throat to take her life the same way that she’d taken his companion’s. It was at that moment though, at that moment where life and death moved close enough to kiss, that she felt a roar curl up from her lungs and burst from her lips, an explosion of power that deafened. It erupted from her skin and sent everyone flipping end over end, slamming into the unforgiving sand. It was not enough, though.

            It would never be enough.

            She turned on the knight that lay sprawled on the ground, his chest heaving, and she hissed in fury. Her palm lifted, and fire pooled up from the ground, encircling the mage and consuming him, his shrieks quiet in comparison to the roar of the flame. His paltry attempts at defensive spells did not work, and he died quickly. It was not enough. She shifted and swept up sand that compressed to rock, and it crushed another knight in its wake, his bones nothing in comparison to the earth that he lay on. The wind shrieked and moaned, and it swirled around them, tugging at clothing and hair, and another knight was carried away in the force of it, the grit of sand and dirt shredding his skin, the scent of blood in the air strong enough to taste. It was not enough, though. Lupa lurched about, her lungs on _fire_ , and she heaved a gasp and turned and spun, searching for enemies, searching for people to fall beneath her blades because she was hungry, and it would _never be enough_.

            _I remember the blood. And the screaming_.

            “You’ve made your point, girl. You may stop.”

            Lupa wasn’t sure if it was the voice that brought her to her senses, or if it was the nonchalance in it. She faltered though, and her arms dropped to her sides, useless as the magic faded from her veins. She turned once more and spied one of the knights, although now that Lupa could see the woman, she knew that it was no mere knight. She sat with easy pride, with confidence that although she was the one in danger, she didn’t feel very much in danger at all. She stared up at Lupa, and her eyes were starved and calculating. She tilted her head and considered the elfling before her, and for a moment, although it was the goddess that crouched in the blood and the much, Lupa felt utterly naked. She had never seen this woman before, but she knew her as one would know a part of themselves.

            “Andruil.” Lupa said, and she knew it to be true. The armor fit her oddly, but she wore it like a second skin, comfortable. Her long, brilliant hair spilled over plating that would have brought a god to its knees in sheer envy of it. It hadn’t brought Andruil to her knees, though. Lupa had. Andruil smiled, a blood-curdling smile.

            “Have you come to kill me, little elf?” She cooed. Lupa resisted the urge to fall to her knees at the goddess’ feet, her heart hammering with an entirely different beat. Andruil. Before her, tangible and as clear as daylight, sat Andruil. A goddess that once had prayers ushered to her from frantic lips of Dalish that sought her as their deity. But Lupa had witnessed the danger of gods, and although she once would have cowed to her goddess, now she stood her ground.

            “No. We have come to rescue you.”

            “You turned against the Elvhen, and yet you claim that you wish to help me?” Andruil purred, and her body was still; so perfectly, eerily still.

            “They serve the one that you wish to see met with a quick, speedy end.”

            “And what do you serve? You are what they call forsworn. A traitor, they tell me. I see it in your face, in your skin that still bares marks of slave brands from Arlathan.” Her gaze narrowed, and Lupa’s knees quavered. Her vallaslin burned against her skin, a mark of ignorance and shame. She was acutely aware of every flaw and every perfection in her entire being. She was aware of the goddess seeing it, too.

            “I wish for a balance to be restored in Thedas between all forms of people.”

            “A noble claim for someone cast aside by their own people.” Andruil tilted her head with a jerk, a bird-like motion. “Tell me, one that wears the marks of my brand; do you truly know what you are?”

            “Do you mean what the vallaslin is a symbol of, or what I once supposed it represented?” Lupa asked warily. Once, she had been a Hunter. Proud. Strong. She wore the marks of the one Andruil because she felt kinship to the ways of the bow and arrow, of the unyielding strength of the woman that stepped bare-footed into the forest.

             Now…

             “I hear the whispers in the Void of what you all once thought it to be. Goddess of the Hunt.” Andruil laughed, dark and wicked. “Noble.”

             “I am aware that it is more apt to call you Goddess of Sacrifice.”

             “Yes, but the true question here, elf-that-holds-my-vallaslin, is this: just what are you willing to sacrifice to get what you want most of all?” Andruil’s smile was poisonous, but it smelled like sweet venom that would warm on the way down. Lupa was tempted by it, by the one she’d once prayed to with such fervor and love. She opened her mouth, then closed it. She frowned down at Andruil and then squatted down to her level, her elbows resting on her knees.

            “I save such a question for you. Did you come here now to search for the foci that would return to you your power?” Andruil’s eyes darkened, and Lupa nodded. “We have it. _I_ have it. I have your mark on my skin. I would return it to you, if you aid me in what I wish for first.”

            Andruil licked her lips, and Lupa wondered at the mental state of one that had once been imprisoned for centuries. Would Andruil lash out in fury, refusing to cooperate? Would she follow and then allow a knife to slip between Lupa’s ribs? Fear made people desperate, and although Andruil had once been a goddess, ten years of stark reality had made Lupa a firm believer that all gods fell. Andruil was just another person, now. Despite the stirring in her heart at the woman that sat before her and had once been grand and great, Lupa stamped all feelings such as those as far down as she could force them to go.

            “And what is it that you wish for in return, little elf?” Andruil whispered.

            “I want you to kill Fen’Harel.” Lupa replied. Andruil’s smile flickered across her face, and then it grew so large that it almost swallowed her up.

            “Gladly.”

* * *

 

            Lupa slit the throats of the remaining Emerald Knights and laid them out in the sand for their people to find. Her hands lingered on their weaponry before she pilfered what was needed, ignoring a derisive chuckled from the goddess that stood off to the side, waiting. She roused Cassandra, although Cassandra had been quick to place the blame on Lupa for knocking her out in the first place, and then she woke Varric, ignoring his confusion and then his dry humor as he eyed the goddess that stood off to the side, watching.

            “It wasn’t me. The goddess Andruil did it.” Lupa cut her gaze away from Cassandra’s furious stare, and she quickly laced up new boots that did not pinch the way that her old ones did. She tucked the new supplies into the saddle bags, and when Andruil did not contradict her words, Cassandra grunted.

            “Then let us be off before more of them arrive.” With only three horses, Lupa kept pace with ease, her strides far kinder now that she wore shoes that did not chafe and rub. Andruil rode on the horse, her back straight and her eyes roving over the hills of sand that laid like a rumpled blanket for miles.

            “Do you have a plan?” Andruil asked her, her hold on the reins firm and non-negotiable. Lupa glanced up at her and shook her head.

            “That sort of question is better asked to Cassandra Pentaghast and not me.”

            “You do not run this operation, little elf?”

            “My name is Lupa.” Andruil glanced down at her and tilted her head.

            “Is that a hint?” She asked with a wicked laugh.

            “No, it is me informing you of my name. I hinted at nothing.” At the goddess’ laugh, Lupa scowled and stared ahead, her head cover doing little to ease the sweat that poured down her back and into her tunic. Creators, it was hot.

            The walk back to camp did little to improve her mood. Between Cassandra’s anger at the Emerald Knights moving in and nearly killing them, Varric’s short jokes that made no sense to the forsworn elf, and the smug haughtiness that emanated from the woman that Lupa would have once killed for, Lupa’s blood was as hot as the sand that crept into her clothing and down her throat. It did not dispel as the memories of her actions earlier marched through her mind, merciless. The elf that rose up in the flames was seared into her vision, as much as the one that was crushed beneath the stone. She could see his body give way, his face a grimace as he was flattened. Lupa cringed.

            _I remember the blood. And the screaming_.

            She shook her head violently and crammed her hands under her arms, as if to show the magic who was in charge. Not that it would matter, anyway. She couldn’t control it any more than she could control her destiny, it seemed. There was nothing in her life that Lupa controlled. Fen'Harel made sure of that.

            They reached camp, and at the sound of a horn, the men and women scrambled to their posts and saluted as the group walked to the main tent in the center of the camp. Lupa could feel every pair of eyes on her as she walked, and her back stiffened stubbornly. Let them say what they wished. She bowed to no one.

            In the daylight, the camp appeared to be dingy and unkempt, although the longer Lupa stared, the more she could see that it was a façade. An old and bedraggled blacksmith still had arms of steel, corded muscles and bulging veins as he folded his arms and watched . At first glance, the axe at his hip appeared to be rusted. Second glance showed that it’d been purposefully made to look that way. The tents appeared to be dingy and faded, but the rope that tied them down was strong and new. The camp had the appearance of a sagging, aged old man, but within the walls and covers, it was a thriving war party.

            The center tent was much the same, but far more open on the inside. As the others dismounted, Lupa ducked into the tent and blinked rapidly to allow her eyes to adjust, although she kept up her scarf over the lower half of her face. The less people saw of her, the better. If things grew too hot, she could always snag a horse and be halfway to Ferelden before they noticed. If they couldn’t pin all of her features down, all the better. Although Lupa knew that fleeing was most certainly no longer an option, it felt good to have a back-up plan. Just in case.

            “Who are you?” A man stood at the table, his own clothing not bothering to hide the obvious rank and title. His hands were splayed out onto the map possessively, and his fair skin showed an early lifetime indoors. Was he a nobleman? If so, who? Lupa frowned, but the expression was lost behind her cover.

            “Cullen,” Cassandra said from behind her, and she swept into the tent with Andruil and Varric. At the sight of an Emerald Knight, the man named Cullen began to draw his sword, but Cassandra waved at him.

            “Does he think to best me in battle?” Andruil asked sweetly.

            “Is this an informant?” Cullen asked Cassandra. Cassandra removed her helm and swiped at her forehead.

            “We found the goddess Andruil, Commander Cullen. This is her.”

            Cullen did not drop to his knees, but Lupa noted the flexing of his hand as he processed the information. It wasn’t any more comfortable for him to see an elvish god than it was for Lupa. Good. Although she was the only elf, at least she wasn’t the only one out of her element.

            “Then you are most welcome, Andruil. I am Commander Cullen, leader of the-”

            “The elfling informed me of your desire to see an end to Fen’Harel.” Andruil cut him off smoothly and folded her arms. “I am intrigued.”

            “The elfling…that…” Cullen looked back to Lupa, and she saw recognition on his face. “Ah, yes. The one that has your mark.”

            “She was with the Emerald Knights when we found her.” Cassandra said heatedly, and Cullen looked down at the map, his shoulders tensing.

            “Why?”

            “Because they reached me first and offered me clothing. When I reached their camp, I was informed of Fen’Harel’s desire to see all freed from the binds of the Fade he forced everyone to.” Andruil twitched, and her hair flipped over her shoulder, careless but pointed. Lupa watched her, transfixed.

            “That was his idea, was it not?” Cassandra asked.

            “Presumably. I was offered a reunion with the wolf from them. From you, I will take my revenge instead.” She did not smile and coo at the humans the way she had with Lupa when it was just the two of them, intimate amongst the unconscious and the dead. Instead, she spoke with a guttural, harsh bark of anger, brooking no argument and taking no names.

            “I see. She spoke honestly, madam. We wish to see an end to Fen’Harel as he is brought to justice for his crimes.” Cullen spoke well enough, although there lacked a certain sort of oily slime in his vocal patterns. He wasn’t a nobleman, then. Lupa’s gaze flickered between him and Andruil, and she could see Andruil noting this, too.

            “And who rises to power if he falls?” She asked.

            “I beg your pardon?”

            “Who rules when he is deposed? There is war between the humans and the elves. What will you do next?”

            “We as the Inquisition wish to foster peace between the elves and the humans. This war benefits no one. If that means separate nations between the two people, then so be it. A united nation of peace though, is our ultimate goal.”

            “I would not expect such nobility from humans. Mortals that you are and all.” Andruil glanced down at her nails and wiped a stray bit of dust away. “I said that I would aid, that I may rip the heart out of the dog myself. Where is my foci? And how do you plan to unleash its power?”

            “Now that we have you, our next step is to track where the next deity will fall. We can reconvene at the main camp where you will meet once more with Ghilan’nain and Falon’din.” Cassandra informed her.

            “That was not my question.” Andruil said quietly, her predatory gaze unmoving. Cullen shifted, and Lupa saw him rub the back of his neck uncomfortably, not meeting her gaze. Cassandra’s deep-set scowl darkened, and a cloying energy shifted in the room, stifling with its intensity.

            “The problem with the foci is that I have already touched it. Some of its power, or… _something_ passed to me.” Lupa wasn’t quite sure why she found herself blurting the words, but it lessened the tension, and Andruil broke her stare with Cullen and looked over to Lupa, acknowledging her for the first time since entering the tent.

            “Show me.” Lupa unlaced her boot and drew off her stocking, acutely aware of everyone’s gaze on her. It felt like ants marching under her skin, but she didn’t let it get to her. As the light flickered and hissed, brilliantly white in the dark tent, she heard Andruil take in a sharp breath, and it was momentarily satisfying to hear the goddess taken aback.

            “Do you know how to remove it?” Lupa asked, and she glanced up at Andruil, her expression impassive. She would not show weakness. She would not show how much the sight of the mark made her stomach twist and jerk as it threatened to spew its contents everywhere.

            “This is why you do not touch things that don’t belong to you.” Andruil tutted, and Lupa felt her ears turn hot with shame. “I may know how to remove it, but I must unlock my power, first.”

            “We have the foci that can accomplish that.” Cassandra informed her.

            “Is this what you meant by my mark? You did not speak of your vallaslin?” Andruil asked Lupa. Lupa nodded, once.

            “It spread from her foot and up along her ankle and shin. It drained her energy and nearly killed her.” Cassandra didn’t sound particularly moved or emotional about the declaration. If anything, Andruil’s intrigue in something other than Fen’Harel seemed to rankle her.

            “That is why you make this sacrifice.” Andruil said with delight. Lupa warily nodded.

            “Then we have our plan?” Cullen asked. Everyone within the tent looked to him and nodded in agreement, although Andruil looked as though she wished to interrogate Lupa further. “We shall move camp tomorrow, and you can reunite with your brother and sister, then. When all have been released from the prison you were held within, then we can strike against Fen’Harel.”

            “I am looking forward to the reunion.”

* * *

 

            Lupa split from them the moment that she was released, not wanting to spend another moment with the woman that was once an all-powerful deity. There was something off-putting about her, something that rankled at Lupa’s nerves and made her feel like she was one moment away from having her throat slit. Had the others felt it, too? As she’d all but fled from the tent, she felt the eyes of Cassandra, Andruil, and Cullen on her. She found a small campfire that was ladling stew, and despite the heat, she downed the bowl of soup as quickly as her tongue would allow.

            The afternoon found her prowling the tents, avoiding eye contact with those that looked for too long upon her. She saw their lips part, heard their murmur of ‘knife-ear’ or ‘forsworn’, and she wondered just how many people knew of her. Had Cassandra blown a trumpet when she’d rode into camp with Lupa unconscious? Had she alerted every single person about Lupa and her impending guiltiness? With the stares that pricked like the fine tip of a dagger, Lupa was willing to believe that that was exactly what had happened.

            She picked her way up over a ledge and stood beside two sentries that gave her cursory glances and then double-takes. She scowled impressively at them, and after a moment of prolonged silence, they quickly found other places to stand guard. Lupa sat down after a moment and put her head in her hands in order to think.

            “You were successful.” Her head snapped up when she heard the familiar sound of Solas’ voice. Why it was familiar, she couldn’t say, but the sight of him was far less exhausting than the sight of any other person in camp. She stared at him for a long moment, and then she looked out towards the broad expanse of the desert.

            “You must work for the Inquisition. That, or you are a spy of the Emerald Knights.” Lupa said heavily. Solas sat down beside her, and she was acutely aware of the shift of sway of his body as he adjusted himself carefully.

            “I am neither. I am a wanderer, much like yourself.”

            “You are no forsworn.” Lupa snapped.

            “I am a wanderer that was not forced to do so, this is true.” Solas agreed. “But I am always aware when it is safer to wander in packs than to wander alone.”

            “Perhaps it will not be so safe now that Andruil is with us.” Lupa thought of how she’d first seen the goddess, still as the grave as she watched Lupa murder people in blind fury. It was almost as though she was happy to see such bloodshed.

            “Is the danger in Andruil, or is it in you?” Solas asked curiously. Lupa scowled.

            “If you were there, I wish that you had lifted a hand to aid us. It was hardly a fair fight.”

            “On that we can perfectly agree. Better that you had gone alone instead of take the human and the dwarf with you.” Solas’ reply was cheerful, light. It did nothing to improve Lupa’s mood.

            “What is it that you want from me, Solas?” Lupa demanded, and she turned to look at him directly. In the blazing sun, she could see perspiration on his forehead and a slight pink along the bridge of his straight nose. He sweated like they all did. Like any person did.

            “You intrigue me. This Inquisition intrigues me. In truth, I tend to follow along where change occurs, simply so that I can witness it. I can see big changes ahead for those that are here in this moment, and I wish to be there when it finally shifts and alters.”

            “And if it alters in a way that you don’t like?”

            “I do not presume to be all-knowing. How can I say that I won’t like the change? How can I say that I even have the power to change what happens?”

            “You have enough power to move undetected and unharmed in dangerous territory during dangerous times. That must count for something.” Lupa retorted.

            “I have come to find that power and control do not mean the same thing. There is immense power in a mark that you have received from a goddess, and yet do you feel as though you have much control over anything happening at this moment?” Solas’ voice was low, steady with knowledge and confidence. There was something about it that caught and held in Lupa’s mind, something that rubbed her wrong and yet made perfect sense at the same time. He had to be lying somewhere, but where? Lupa picked at a scab on her hand, and she pulled her knees up to her chest.

            “Then I suppose that I can expect you to appear from the shadows at any point in time in order to critique what I do with the power that I don’t exactly have?” She asked him dubiously. Solas chuckled.

            “I would not say critique. I would merely offer advice that I may have garnered from years of study.”

            “Thank you, Solas.” Lupa replied sarcastically.

            “It is certainly no trouble for me. Although, I do have one question.”

            “It doesn’t mean that I’ll answer it.” Lupa eyed him warily.

            “Of course.” Solas agreed, remembering their first conversation. “What was Andruil like? Although I can only see your face in part, I do see that it is Andruil’s vallaslin that you wear. I wonder how curious she was at seeing you there, rescuing her.”

            “I would hardly call it a rescue.” Lupa frowned, and she rubbed her eyes to scrape the sand out of the corners. Disappointing. Heart-wrenching. Aching.

            “Regardless, I am curious.”

            “She is…eager.” Lupa said tactfully. Eager. That was a nice way of saying blood-thirsty.

            “What was it like to look upon the god that you once worshipped?” Solas didn’t sound cruel, although there was still that playful edge of someone that knew the punchline to a very good joke.

            “It was probably as unsettling as it was when humans woke up and realized that their slaves and their second-class citizens were rising up.”

            “Not nearly as high of a mortality rate. You did not perish from it.”

            “There are many kinds of death, Solas.” Lupa informed him, her body as still as the grave. Solas processed this for a moment, and then he nodded in agreement.

            “Another question, then.”

            “Another?” Lupa snapped, exasperated.

            “In truth, it is an easy question. What is your name?”

            Lupa hesitated, wondering if it was a trap. She’d heard whispers of spells that could only be created if there was something personal twisted into it, be that a name or a lock of hair. And yet, she’d already given it to Andruil, and that genuinely seemed like the bigger threat at the moment. What would this one elf do with it? She licked her cracked and dry lips, and she stared at the sun that taunted her.

            “Lupa. My name is Lupa.”

                “It is a pleasure to officially meet you, Lupa.” Solas said gravely. Lupa said nothing in return, and instead continued to stare out at the sun balefully. It didn’t seem to bother him, though. He sat with her in seemingly companionable silence for well over an hour before he wordlessly stood and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I have ruined my heart and played Trespasser, I'm actually happy to note that a lot of my headcanons that were going to be twisted into this story are now canon, and I can write this without feeling like a colossal dumbass. Thank you all for reading, and enjoy!


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

           The camp folded up on itself like moth’s wings and abandoned the Western Approach with haste early the next morning. The small company moved with ease of practice, like their actions had been repeated a thousand times over and would be repeated a thousand times again. It was apparent that each one of the members was a battle-hardened warrior, used to the grim realities of bed rolls and cold meals underneath foreign constellations. She’d eaten breakfast under the watchful eye of Cassandra Pentaghast and Commander Cullen, and when she was finally given back all of her belongings –a meager traveling satchel of odds and ends, but her own belongings none-the-less –she sat off to the side and watched. Andruil had happily been settled into a small cart where she could rest –apparently, falling from the Fade was tiring and painful –and then they were off, their sights set on Velun. Although it was a dangerous road to take, if they could reach Velun, then they could turn north and skirt along the different territories, avoiding the newly-claimed Elvhen-Val Royeaux and instead make their way to Montfort. Montfort was where Cassandra claimed that a larger force of the Inquisition resided until further notice. Lupa didn’t bother asking whether or not it was because the humans would sooner or later tire of an organization that fostered ‘peace’ between elves and humans. The less she knew about them, the better.

           Lupa was provided a horse, much to the Horse Master’s disgust, and she rode on the outside of the company, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed her movements. Ever since she’d awoken, she felt the eyes of everyone in the company pinned to her back. Although she was not new to slurs against elves, it was still a surprise to hear ‘knife-ear’ tossed around when someone thought that her ‘knife-ears’ were far enough away. She’d been so used to hearing ‘forsworn traitor’ or ‘traitorous bitch’ that she almost welcomed the reprieve. She’d rather someone insult her ears rather than her honor any day.

           The sun was still hot, but there was something refreshing about her moving towards where it rose instead of where it set. As an exile, Lupa had been forced to go where food was available without having to run the risk of people. The longer she’d stayed on the fringes, the farther west she’d had to move in order to avoid being captured by the Elvhen, or worse –humans. Although she did not count herself among friends or even acquaintances, there was a small comfort in not being entirely alone for the moment. Before she’d run into the Emerald Knights a few days ago, Lupa had not seen a living being for a month.

           A disturbance in the line pulled her from her reverie of what would happen once they reached Montfort, and she watched a messenger break from the line of people in order to reach her. Although he did not bow, he bobbed his head and wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes troubled.

           “Lady Pentaghast requests your presence at the front of the caravan, miss…” The boy’s eyes cut to her markings and then away, struggling to think of a title for her. Lupa nodded and glanced over to the men and woman that stared with barely concealed distaste, and annoyed at their prickly stares, she jerked her cover down so that she could bare her teeth at them, scowling.

           “I will see to her.” She said curtly to the boy, and she nudged the horse into a trot, her back stiff and her shoulders thrown back. She could hear the hisses and slurs as she passed by, and so she pressed closer to the line, crowding their space as she rode by. Her knee clipped the side of someone’s leg, and they jerked in surprise. It was annoying, to have to make a point so roughly, but she wouldn’t let them think that she was afraid. Let them see her face and know that she was not a coward. Let her vallaslin be a sign to all that she took no side in the war. Let them know that she took no side because she was the only one that could see that war was nothing but madness. She’d tangled with death enough times to not fear the scowls and hatred that was written plainly on the faces of those alongside her.

           Cassandra waited for her at the top of the hill with Varric and Commander Cullen, only the dwarf at ease as they stared into the distance. When Lupa pulled her horse alongside them, Cassandra nodded to her.

           “A platoon of Sentries rides this way. You are to go to the center of the caravan and seclude yourself away with Andruil.” Cassandra said curtly. Lupa tensed, her eyes cutting to the east where a small band of riders broke away from their platoon to investigate. Sentries. If the Emerald Knights were the fiercest of the Elvhen, the Sentries were the most hate-filled of the humans. They despised elves, despised their power and ties to the fade now that the veil was gone. For sport, they would capture elves (forsworn or not) and make them tranquil, releasing them back into normal life as a warning to all others. With the veil gone, the closeness of the fade but all connection to it severed drove the tranquil mad, their minds unable to cope. No elf survived for long after they’d been made tranquil. Lupa remembered a forsworn that’d been made tranquil. He’d stumbled into her small camp in the middle of the night, his eyes glazed. Though emotionless, all connection to his true self gone, he’d known something was not right.

            _“Something presses against my skin and calls to me. I am powerless, though not pained. I should have it, but it troubles me not that I do not. I was a danger, they said, but in truth I was not, and it bothers me not.” His eyes roved, mad with a grief he couldn’t feel, and they pinned Lupa to her place by the fire. “I know what I lost. It does not hurt, but logically, death is preferred.”_

_Lupa shifted, her knives in hand, but the elf made no move to attack. His words chilled her, his eyes blank and empty. There was nothing in his eyes…nothing in his voice. He was a shell, and creators, he knew it. Lupa swallowed heavily, her throat tight._

_“Do you feel nothing now?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper. The fire flickered and danced across his face, his vallaslin from the time before stark against his pasty skin._

_“I feel nothing.” He intoned, and his body quaked._

_“Then why do you want to die?”_

_“You have it. I do not. It is on my skin but not in my skin, and although it troubles me not, I know that in this world where the trees can sing again, there is no place for an elf that cannot touch the strands of the fade. Logically, Fen’Harel would not want it.”_

_His blood sprayed across her lap and chest as he slit his own throat. The image was branded into Lupa’s eyelids for months to come._

           “What do they want with you?” Lupa asked, wiping away the blood she imagined still on her leg.

           “They probably wish to see why we fly no banner. They could very well be here for the same reason that we are, although their end-goal would be far different.” Cullen shifted in his saddle, his eyes cutting away from them. “Either way, we provoke attack if they see you here.”

           “We will ensure that you are safe.” Cassandra said firmly.

           “Yeah, your leg is basically worth its weight in gold now.” Varric joked. At a scathing look from Cassandra though, he quieted down, and Lupa heard him as he followed her down the hill, back to the company.

           “Sentries do not like dwarves either.” She said to Varric.

           “I’d call it more of a ‘supreme distaste for anything that is not human,’ to be honest. It used to be that I could sit down and share a pint with a soldier. Now, they’re trying to lop my head off.” Despite the tense situation, Varric’s voice was still cheerful and upbeat. Did nothing rattle him? Lupa’s bones felt shaky, threatening to cave in on her at any moment. As the humans parted around them, she stiffened her spine and ignored the way that it creaked and popped. Beneath her, her horse shifted as it sensed her agitation. Almost mindlessly, Lupa doodled designs of Dalish runes against the horse’s neck with her finger, cooing to the beast lightly. The action soothed her almost as much as it did the horse.

           The carriage was of a simple design and make, but it didn’t bother Lupa. She dismounted and quickly climbed into the carriage, leaving Varric to melt into the crowd of people like he was one of them. Inside, lounging on one of the seats like she owned the very earth beneath her, Andruil watched with eyes that smarted and blistered Lupa’s skin. Lupa sat on the bench across from the goddess, and she averted her eyes.

           “They hide you away like the embarrassing relative they’d rather not be related to.” Andruil said in way of greeting.

           “Sentries attack any elf in sight.” Lupa replied curtly.

           “Why should you care?” Andruil asked. “You could decimate them the way that you did your own kind just yesterday.”

           “That sort of power is not mine to command.”

           “Isn’t it? I was with the Emerald Knights for a few days, you know. Magic is at the fingertips of every elf once more, like it was the days that I ruled the skies. The fade is in our lungs, the spirits at our side. One of the elves you killed was half-human, but even he is a mage skilled in all manner of the arcane. With your blood being as pure as freshly fallen snow, you surely benefit more than someone like him.” There was something so utterly demeaning as she spoke, an innate part of herself that felt superior. Lupa felt just as out of place in the carriage with her as she did with the humans outside.

           “That may be true, but I want no part of it.”

           “You would deny your own heritage? This is who you are, little elf.” Andruil arched a perfect eyebrow and pursed her lips.

           “No.” Lupa disagreed firmly. “My heritage is Clan Lavellan, and the Dalish that sacrificed comfort to walk the lonely path in order to try and restore our people.”

           “But they didn’t. They made a new history entirely, and although they got the names right, they sorely lacked the details.” Andruil laughed, malicious and wild. She enjoyed this. She enjoyed trying to toy with people. Lupa smiled grimly.

           “Then the claim that Fen’Harel sealed you all away because you are monsters is true?”

           “Would it change your mind about recruiting my help if it were?”

           “No. I need you for now. If it is true, though, then I would be careful. You need your power restored. Fen’Harel doesn’t. If you don’t kill him first, he’ll certainly come back to finish what he started.”

           Andruil didn’t reply, but the darkness in her eyes conveyed more than words ever could. Lupa pulled back the screen to see outside, and there was some relief to see that the people in the company were forming up to continue moving once more. She let the curtain fall back, and she rubbed her eyes as black dots danced across her vision.

           “You truly have no faith in your gods anymore?” Andruil asked.

           “I have faith in the things that I have seen and the things that I know. Nothing more, nothing less.”

           “And this clan of yours that you have faith in –where are they now?”

           “Dead.” The word snapped and crackled on her lips.

           “How did they die?” Lupa didn’t have to answer her. Her throat was tight, and she had to focus out a slow, shaky exhale. For some reason, her hands were hot, and her eyes watered.

           “…I don’t know.” She said.  _I don’t remember_. Unspoken, and yet she could see from the intrigued tilt to Andruil’s head that she heard what Lupa really meant to say.  _I don’t remember_. As damning a phrase as though Lupa had killed them herself.

 

* * *

 

 

           They did not speak again, not until the caravan stopped for the evening and Cassandra opened the door for them. While Andruil stretched and yawned, Lupa slipped out of the door, eager to stretch her legs and be away from the darkness that seemed to ooze from the other woman. Although she didn’t like to admit it, the wandering elf had been right. It was just as dangerous to seek aid from gods as it was to run away with a mark that was burned into her leg.

           At the sight of a small campfire, Lupa moved over to it and sat down in the sand, ignoring the apprehensive looks sent her way. A cook handed her a bowl of soup, and she gratefully began spooning it into her mouth, watching the fire devour the logs.

           “The Sentries wanted to search our company for you.” One of the humans nearby called out to her, but Lupa ignored it. They could say what they wanted. None of them mattered.

           “Hey, elf, he was speaking to you.” Another man said, and Lupa took a pointed slurp from her spoon, noting the sound of others walking over.

           “They said we looked like we were hiding something. You could have gotten us killed.” The first speaker’s voice drew near, but Lupa still did not look up to acknowledge them. That was always the trouble with those who were used to being on top. They spoke, thinking that their words were appreciated or even wanted.

           “Well? Aren’t you going to thank us for helping you, knife-ear?” She heard his boots as he shifted in the sand and stepped up behind her, but she held still and said nothing. Timing. Timing was everything.

           “Can she even hear us?” Another man asked, and everyone laughed. It was a small group, about six or seven, but six or seven could deal a lot of damage against one. Lupa swallowed another spoonful of soup.

           “How about you come with me and we have a nice chat about thankfulness, eh?” She sensed him as he drew closer, and before he could put a hand on her, Lupa stood up and twisted, flinging the rest of her food into his face. The man howled in pain and grabbed at his eyes, and Lupa used that as an opportunity to grab him and twist the man, a knife to his throat as she dragged him up against her. At the sight of their ringleader cowed, the other men froze.

           “Is this the Inquisition, or isn’t it?” She asked, her voice dangerously low. As the man blinked broth from his eyes, she felt him go still, and his adam’s apple bobbed against her blade.

           “Well?” She snapped when no one spoke. From behind her, Lupa could hear the flames pop and crackle across a log. In front of her, one of the men cleared his throat.

           “We don’t want any trouble…” He murmured, his hands held out.

           “It sounded like you wanted trouble.” The man in her arms twitched, and she tapped lightly at his neck, reminding him of his place.

           “How about you just let the man go…no one needs to get hurt.” Out of the corner of her eye, Lupa could see the cook standing by his pot, ladle gripped tightly in hand. Was he against her, too? Another enemy?

           “Is this how you treat all of your guests? Or is the Inquisition not about the peace and union between elves and humans?” There was another long, drawn out silence, broken only by the sound of someone running towards them, their armor clinking and rubbing against itself as they moved. Commander Cullen appeared among the tents, and at the sight of Lupa holding a captive, he stared, baffled.

           “What in the name of the Holy Maker is going on here?” He demanded.

           “She’s got our mate by the throat, commander!”

           “She’s going to slit his throat!”

           Cullen’s eyes roved over the men, and when he met Lupa’s steady gaze, he frowned.

           “We do not condone violence in this company. If you would release him, we can discuss this without our weapons.”

           Lupa hesitated, and after a painful heartbeat, she lifted her blade and shoved the man away from her, her eyes never leaving the commander’s as she sheathed her weapon. In the light of the fire, his eyes glinted a tawny gold, his armor rippling and reflecting oddly. As the man stumbled over to Cullen, he patted the human’s shoulder and ushered him on, his lips pressed into an angry, flat line.

           “She did nothing wrong, Commander.” The cook spoke up suddenly, his own tense stance relaxing now that the trouble had passed. “The elf was minding her business when this lot came up and bothered her.”

           The look Cullen gave his men could have turned them to stone if he were a mage. Lupa watched with some amusement as each and every one of them ducked their heads and sheepishly watched the ground. She wondered if he commanded that sort of respect from all of his people, or if this group was special somehow.

           “Report to my quarters. I’ll deal with you later.” He growled. The man saluted and dispersed, not bothering to even dare casting Lupa a dark glance. The cook walked over and handed Lupa another bowl of soup, and she nodded gratefully. At least there were some decent people among the den of animals. Cullen shifted across from her and rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes drawn down towards her blades. After a painful moment of silence, Lupa turned and sat down once more, going back to eating.

           “I am sorry.” Cullen said, moving over to the fire. He lifted his hands up to the blaze and warmed his palms, frown lines dragging his lips down.

           “I have dealt with people like that before.” Lupa shrugged and looked away from him.

           “This is the Inquisition, though. You should not have to worry about anyone here. Your being here is already a service given freely, and the last thing that you should have to worry about is whether or not you are in danger while you are with us.”

           “I wasn’t in danger. Not from them.” Lupa snorted, thinking about the sloppy and clumsy way the man had stumbled about. She’d never truly had much contact with humans, even from the time Before. Were they all so clumsy? Were they all so truly oafish? She glanced up at Cullen and studied his build and stance. He didn’t seem oafish. No, there seemed to be determination and pride in the way that he stood. Not oafishness.

           “Well, yes, that I could…” His voice trailed off, and the man cleared his throat. “It was quite different, being isolated for so long. Being among so many people must be a substantial shift.”

           “It is.” Lupa nodded. Cullen cleared his throat again, and he looked around the camp, grasping at something more to say. Why should he say anything at all? Had Cassandra sent him? Were they as suspicious of her as she was of them?

           “For what it’s worth…we appreciate the help, truly. When we had to convince Falon’Din to join us, it took nearly a day and a half before he agreed.”

           “Were you surprised?”

           “I suppose I thought…that with the way that things are…” His voice trailed off again.

           “You thought that he would leap at the chance to kill Fen’Harel because of the anger in his heart at being locked away?” Lupa suggested.

           “Yes, I suppose that that’s exactly what I thought.” Cullen laughed nervously.

           “It isn’t a foolish thought. But if the claims against the old gods are true, then it is little wonder he would rake you over the coals and interrogate you before he agreed to anything. Revenge is pretty, but there is always what comes after that a god with power such as his would want to know.”

           “Do you think your own gods were so cruel to your people?”

           “Yes.” Lupa didn’t hesitate. “Not intentionally, perhaps. Ten years ago, elves were locked away in alienages or put on display as pretty servants to be looked at and yet also reviled. In Tevinter, they were slaves, animals pitted against one another in order to prevent them from planning an escape. It is not hard to think that the gods from Arlathan were just as cruel. It is the way anyone with power is. Too much power, and they begin to see others less like people and more like playthings.”

           “And now, they’ve risen the Winter Palace into the sky in order to recreate Arlathan, humans as slaves in their halls.” Cullen said quietly.

           “Too much power, and they begin to see others less like people and more like playthings.” Lupa reaffirmed.

 

* * *

 

 

           The camp was on the move the next day, and there were no more interruptions. This time, at the request of Commander Cullen and Lady Cassandra, Lupa rode at the front of the caravan, silent as they discussed their future plans. It seemed that the Sentries were making their way to the Western Approach, whether to investigate the fallen goddess that wouldn’t be there, or to engage with the Emerald Knights in battle. Lupa didn’t want to imagine what that fight would look like. Although the Sentries were vicious and brutal, no matter how strong their mages were, elves had more magic. It was as simple as that. It could hardly be mage against mage because elves were far more in tune with the fade. Even Templars from the time Before struggled in order to dampen the magic. How did one stop magic when the power that fueled it was in the very air that they breathed?

           Two days later took them to Velun, and a week and a half later, the Inquisition was received at Montfort. It was a large, sprawling camp by the estate that the late Prosper de Montfort once lived in. He was survived only by his son, Cyril de Montfort, a man that stayed as far out of the war politics as possible. This was explained to Lupa by Cassandra as they rode in to camp, although why Lupa would want to know was far beyond her.

           The camp was neat and orderly, semi-permanent places of business set up close together. To her relief, she saw elves among the people, and they didn’t seem to be working at menial tasks. Each and every person was armed, and the air was rich with scent of horses, burning metal, and herbs from the apothecary. As she rode by with Cassandra, some of the people stopped and stared, their eyes wide. One such elf, she noted, even smiled up at her and touched their own vallaslin, a silent confirmation of their once-exiled identity. Lupa nodded firmly to them, once.

           At the edge of the camp, a small chantry was bustling with people, religion always strong in times of fear. That was where they dismounted, and a small boy took the reins of their horses and led them away. Lupa followed Cullen and Cassandra up the steps, and before they could open the intricately carved double doors, they were thrown open.

           “You have returned!” She was richly clothed in gold and blue, her clothing vibrant despite the obvious military that lay at her feet. Her hair shined with sweet-smelling oils, and her accent rolled around Lupa’s ears, a country’s name that she couldn’t place. She had a hook nose and a wide smile, a smile that didn’t falter, even when she saw Lupa.

           “And you have brought someone.” Her counterpart was not so elegantly dressed, although there was still quality to her clothing. Her face was mostly obscured beneath a wide hood, the only indication of her features being a thick strand of scarlet hair that poked out from the hood. Her accent was clearly Orlesian, low and controlled.

           “Is it…is she…?” The other woman gasped, her hands to her mouth.

           “No, for she bears the vallaslin of those that were exiled from the Elvhen. It could not be.” Although she could not see the hooded woman’s eyes, she could feel them on her. Her hands curled reflexively.

           “Then where is…?”

           “She is resting from her travels, the same way that the other two had to. First, we have a lot to discuss.” Cassandra sounded weary, but the iron in her bones refused to let her rest.

           “Perhaps in private, to better ensure that others do not hear.” Cullen cast a slightly distrustful glance around the camp, and Lupa followed his eyes. Were there spies, even in their military? It was true that the Sentries and the Emerald Knights sometimes had people infiltrate their ranks, but in a place that urged peace, surely people could stand behind the call?

           “Are you coming?” Lupa looked back and realized at the others were waiting on her, their stares intent. What she really wanted was to find a stream and wash away weeks of grime and dirt. What she wanted was to scrub her clothing and comb the grit from her hair. What she wanted was to sleep for a little while, to dream away the horrific and fantastic things that’d happened to her. Instead, she nodded grimly and sighed.

           “Yes.” There was work to be done. The constant aching and glowing from her leg wouldn’t let her forget.

           The room that they met in was small, the table taking up entirely too much space. The moment the door behind them closed, the woman with the Orlesian accent took down her hood and ruffled her short bob, her lips pursed in concentration. The chairs around the table were cushioned and velvet, and it was only after Cullen and Cassandra sat down with their clothes still travel-stained and dirty that Lupa followed suit, seated gingerly on the edge.

           “Who is this that you brought?” The woman with the foreign accent studied Lupa quizzically, no malice in her voice.

           “I am Lupa.” Lupa said before Cassandra could open her mouth.

           “I am Lady Josephine Montilyet, and this is my associate, Lady Nightingale.”

           “Nightingale?” The name stuck in Lupa’s head, and she gaped at the woman across from her. The Orlesian grinned, and she folded her arms across her chest.

           “You have heard of her?” Cassandra was surprised.

           “You were the one that first alerted the humans to the surprise attack from the Elvhen.” Lupa said quietly.

           “I am.” The Nightingale agreed. “But you may call me Leliana.”

           “Even after alerting the humans to the attack, you have now joined the Inquisition?” Lupa asked.

           “I alerted them to the mindless slaughter that would happen if they weren’t prepared. I am an advocate for equality, not mindless slaughter.”

           “Leliana was once the Left Hand of the Divine. She carries a great deal of influence and power that will aid us in our cause.” Cassandra explained.

           “And Lady Josephine carries political ties and will aid us in our relations between both sides.” Leliana said.

           “Although, at this time, no one will speak to us of peace. Large forces on both sides are fighting in the Frostback Mountains. The Elvhen have taken a keep and have a grand strategic location from which they fight.” Lady Josephine motioned to a map that sat in the center of the table, marked and pinned with various colors and details. Lupa stood up and looked down at it, awed to see lines and colored thread outlining the territories that the Elvhen had claimed and that the humans had claimed.

           “You mean to actually stop this war entirely? You mean to bring peace?” Lupa asked, barely able to keep the awe from her voice. She'd heard tales of the Nightingale, of a spymaster that ran her operations as smooth as silk and as deadly as Night Whisper poison. With her involved...perhaps...?

           “That is the goal.” Cassandra said heavily.

           “But first,” Leliana leaned over the map and studied it as well. “We need news of the Western Approach. Who did you find? And did they agree to help us?”

           “It was Andruil.” Lupa spoke up before Cullen or Cassandra could say a word. “And she will, at a price.”

           Leliana studied Lupa, a strange expression in her eyes. Lupa was used to that, used to the gaze of someone that wasn’t quite sure what to make of an exile. There was intelligence in her eyes, as well as the glint of a finely honed mind that was sharper than most. A small, crafty smile tugged at the human’s lips.

           “How exactly do you tie into this, Miss Lupa?” Leliana asked.

           “It would be better if she showed you.” Cassandra replied. The weariness in her voice was palpable. Lupa sat down on the edge of the chair and worked at pulling her boot and stocking off, her teeth clenched together as she felt the heat and the thrum of the damned mark.

           “I’ll start at the beginning.”  She said as she displayed the mark for all to see.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

            By the end of the meeting, Leliana and Josephine were convinced that Lupa was the best chance that they had in reaching out to the gods and recruiting them. After she gave them the bare-bones of how she convinced Andruil to not attack her and instead join her, there was a stunned silence, as though she’d charmed a snake of its venom. Cullen repeated his own tale of recruiting Falon’Din, and Cassandra wouldn’t even speak of how she’d gotten Ghilan’nain to join them. As it was, when Lupa corrected them on what they supposed history or legend, it was not only decided that Lupa would stay in order to have the mark removed, but she would also aid them in speaking to the gods as they fell. No matter how she tried to explain that Andruil was a fluke, Leliana’s gaze on the mark on her leg was primal. The decision of the group was absolute.

            Because of this, Lupa found herself being given a grand tour of the Inquisition’s camp, Josephine her personal guide. Her easy and amiable manner was a direct contrast to Cassandra, who’d given Lupa a warning look before she’d departed in order to wash away the grime of travel. Although Lupa wasn’t at ease, she was considerably more comfortable around the woman that’d confirmed herself as a native Antivan, when Antiva had been a country all of its own, that is.

            “You can see the tents; this is where the military resides.” Each of the tents was large, made of stiff, white material that didn’t flap or shift in the wind. “There is enough room in each tent for four soldiers to bunk. We like to mix the elves with the humans in order to foster good relations.” Outside of one of the tents, Lupa saw an elf and a human tossing a fireball in the space between them, neither one hostile. Instead, it looked as though they were practicing shifting the magic between one another.

            “Each tent has two mages to them, then?” Lupa asked.

            “We used to split the soldiers and the mages up, but the nature of our foes makes it necessary to mix people. If we are attacked, then we need to have as many mages dispersed through the ranks as possible. Not only are there at least two mages per tent, but they learn to work together and trust one another, as we all should.” Josephine smiled, pleased with her plan.

            “How many people are here now? The Inquisition is still a new group.” Lupa couldn’t count on hands and toes how many organizations had risen on either side of the war in order to attempt to bring about order. The nation called Elvhenan boasted the Emerald Knights as their elite, but there were also the Hunters, the Dalish, the Vir Banal’ras, and then their main military line, Halamshiral. It was a joke among the Elvhen, that their military meant ‘the end of the journey’. Their idea was that no matter what human they faced in combat, the humans would face the end of the journey and take the first of their final breaths in battle. The humans, united under the name of Andraste, had the Templars, the Sentries, the Ash Warriors, the Circle of Magi, the Chevaliers, and the Seekers.

            Although the humans had many factions, in-fighting between them is what truly made their work difficult. It was hard to fight the Elvhen when you were already bickering amongst yourselves. The Elvhen had one thing in common –they each had a personal prejudice against humans. The humans not only struggled against the elves, but they still had powerhouses that attacked one another at random. Lupa had heard snatches of the mages fighting against their Templar keepers, wanting to help in the war in their own way. The Templars were so busy pushing the mages back that they were nearly obliterated by the elves that watched nearby.

            “There are three hundred dwarves, fifty Qunari, one thousand five hundred and nineteen humans, and two thousand and seventy six elves.” Josephine said proudly.

            “…So many elves?” Lupa whispered. Her mind reeled, the idea of so many of the Elvhen joining a cause for peace.

            “About half of them were exiles, like you were. But others came from the new cities that the Elvhen have renamed or created anew. We have a platoon that deserted the Emerald Knights, and they have been an asset to our cause.”

            “You have Emerald Knights here?”

            “Yes, they felt that…there was a better path for them. They wish an end to this war, just as any other that comes here to join the Inquisition.” Josephine steered her past an inn and a tavern that lulled with the sweet sounds of music and the shouts of the drunk.

            “You don’t worry about spies?” In the distance, Lupa could make out the shimmering, iridescent green tents of the Emerald Knights, and she shuddered. She would stay away from them.

            “Due to the nature of Lady Nightingale’s…work, we have found spies relatively easy. Some of them suffered unfortunate accidents, but others were actually recruited to our cause. It seemed that the longer they remained with us, the more they saw the appeal of an end to this death.” She paused at a small fork in the road, one that led towards the city proper. Lupa wondered if the nobleman minded much that the fields of his property were full to bursting from another military organization, or if he welcomed the defense that came with it as a result.

            “Then where would you have me? Is there a free tent?” Lupa looked back to the tents and wondered if she could get a bunkmate that wasn’t interested in pestering her.

            “We actually thought that, given the nature of your own work and duties, that it would be best to have you housed over here, with the…Evanuris.” By the look in Josephine’s eye, it was obvious that this had been a decision that hadn’t necessarily been a popular one. If Lupa had been present, she’d have suggested it not happen at all.

            “I see.” She noted how difficult it was for Josephine to say Evanuris. She couldn’t exactly blame her though; what did one call a pantheon that was potentially locked away for the abuses they’d thrust upon their people? Lupa didn’t want to refer to them as gods any more than those that worshipped the chantry did. She bit the inside of her cheek and followed the human along a path that led to a small cluster of houses.

            The gods were in their own respective houses; though of simple make from stucco and plaster, it was leagues above the tents that the soldiers resided in. It was obvious in the decorations and the colors that it was clearly Orlesian, each one dainty and somewhat gaudy to Lupa’s eye.

            Seated on a chair outside of one sat Falon’Din.

            Lupa wasn’t exactly sure _how_ she knew that it was Falon’Din. Perhaps it was the way that he held himself as he sat, every inch of him oozing confidence and craftiness. Friend of the dead he was called, and she could see death clinging to him, a dank and dark aura that made her hackles rise. He was dressed nicely, draped in robes of modest but quality fabric, and in one elegantly cupped palm, he concentrated on spinning two marbles around one another in the air, a lazy speed to the motion. At the sound of their footsteps, he glanced up with eyes the color of the moon, his lashes as dark as coal. A small, pleasant smile crossed his lips, and he closed his hand, tucking the marbles away.

            “Lady Montilyet, you grace us with your presence so soon! I worried you’d grown weary of me.” He gaze flicked from Josephine to Lupa, and he gave a small start of surprise. His pupils dilated, and his smile grew.

            “Your magic has returned to you, I see.” Josephine bobbed her head in greeting.

            “Bit by bit, yes. Although, being locked away in the Void for so long has made it somewhat more difficult to manipulate.” His tone was blasé, as though being captive in the Void was normal. His eyes remained fixed on Lupa.

            “I could imagine…” Josephine smiled, although she did not make a move to go closer.

            “And yet, it looks as though you have brought someone here for me to meet.” His gaze didn’t waver from Lupa’s face, and it made her skin itch.

            “Yes, where are my manners? May I present Lupa to you? Lupa, this is-”

            “Falon’Din.” Lupa said quietly. Falon’Din’s smile grew, and he stood up, his stature far larger than any of the elves Lupa had ever seen. She gaped at his broader shoulders, his height that seemed to reach up past tallest of humans. He seemed pleased about her scrutiny, and he nodded.

            “Yes, and it is a pleasure to meet one of the people.” He said ‘the people’ like one would caress a lover, his voice low and rich. Lupa resisted the urge to shudder.

            “She will be helping the Inquisition find the other gods of your pantheon.” Josephine said, and Falon’Din nodded.

            “Yes, I could sense from you a certain sort of kinship. You too feel the call of my brothers and sister? Do you dream of them as I do?”

            “I will do what I can.” Lupa said uncomfortably.

            “Then I welcome you, Lupa.”  He said kindly, and his eerily pale eyes traced her vallaslin. “Perhaps you will feel at home here with us, since your own people cast you out.”

            “Perhaps.” Lupa replied. And then, as soft and as subtly as a whisper, she felt the brush of something against her mind. It was a tickle, the feeling before a sneeze, and it set her teeth on edge. She had never felt such an invasion of her mind, although she had heard rumors of the power that some of the elves held. Immediately, she tensed and threw up a wall around her mind, shoving the feeling violently away. Falon’Din didn’t physically react, but there was a hardening in his eyes as he nodded vaguely. He took her resistance in stride, even as she glared at him.

            “Do enjoy your new quarters.” He said, and he turned back to his own quarters, his shoulders thrown back as though he’d once carried the dead. A dismissal, if there was ever any. Lupa looked over at Josephine, and the Antivan smiled and led her away, over to a small cottage. Lupa still felt the burning scrutiny of Falon’Din as they left though, a mark on her back that would never come off.

* * *

 

            It was in the dead of night that a cry of anguish woke Lupa from her sleep. After Josephine had left her to her own devices, Lupa had bathed, built a fire in the small fireplace, and then promptly crashed on the bed, exhausted. Sleep had taken her, the sort of sleep that sunk into your bones and laid a rich blanket of darkness over your mind. She had no dreams, no nightmares. Her mind was finally forcing her to do nothing but rest, demanding an end to the constant movement and action. The scream had torn through that peace though, taken a claw and ripped her from her rest violently. She jolted up from the bed and blinked about blearily, a shudder crawling down her spine at the sound. She’d heard rabbits screech after they’d been caught by the predator, their panic making the most awful of noises, but this was somehow far worse than that. Lupa knew that it wasn’t an animal –it was a person.

            There was another cry, a noise that rose up and then cut off sharply. Warily, she unsheathed her blades and moved over to the window, peeking out past the small valance. The waxing moon stroked the earth with its gaze, illuminating small patches and casting everything else in darkness. When she saw no attack on the people, Lupa shifted over to the door and opened it, the squeak of the hinges grating.

            Outside, she saw Falon’Din by his own cottage, his build and stature obvious even in the dim lighting. He stood facing one of the other cottages, and Lupa watched as Andruil raced across the dirt path, bare-footed and wild. Her hair flowed behind her, loose and tangled, and as she crashed against Falon’Din and clung to him, her keening cry shifted and broke into gross sobbing as she shuddered against him. Falon’Din’s arms wrapped around her, strong and resilient.

            “My wonderful, beautiful sister.” Falon’Din said, and he laid his head on her shoulder as she wept.

            “That wicked, awful beast.” Andruil moaned, her voice barely discernable. “He tricked us, brother. He tricked us!”

            “He did.” Falon’Din agreed, and he rubbed a soothing circle into her back.

            “I’m going to make him pay! My mind, my…everything is shambles, everything is gone!”

            “Not all is gone, nor is all lost. This is our chance, my dear, our moment to make all right.” Falon’Din sounded calm, self-assured.

            “Did he take your mind, too? Did he take it and twist it all apart?”

            “Fen’Harel made each of us pay in our own way.” Falon’Din growled.

            “I shall never forgive him. I will drink the blood from his veins and watch him fall! I am weak, so very weak…” There was another sob, and it was like she had taken a knife and dragged it down Lupa’s back. She shuddered, and she wasn’t sure if it was fear or a spell that kept her from looking away.

            “We will make the trickster pay, dear sister. We will take his empire and bring it down around him, as he once did so long ago. You are not alone anymore.” His voice was soothing, a balm against Andruil’s frayed mind. What was it to be locked away for hundreds of years, helpless? Did Fen’Harel keep them separated, trapped in their own personal hells?

            “And Ghilan’nain. She is one of us, although she is not blood.” Andruil looked up at Falon’Din and touched his cheeks gently, cradling his face. The gesture was oddly intimate.

            “My blood will always come first, but Ghilan’nain has proven herself useful for a long time.” Falon’Din leaned into her touch.

            “Does she hear the screaming in her head, too?” Andruil whispered.

            “We all do, sister. Until he is dead, the screaming will never end.”

            “Then let us break him. Let us crush his bones to dust and let us burn his world down around him. Let us remind him of what we are capable of.”

            “Of course.” Falon’Din slid his fingers through Andruil’s hair, smiling affectionately. “But first, let us find the rest of our family. I am sure they would not want to miss out on the fun.”

            Andruil nodded, and she wrapped her arms around him once more, her cries softer and far more pained than before. Falon’Din tucked her head under his chin and stood, still as stone and just as unyielding. Although the threat seemed to be gone, Lupa did not sheath her weapons. Watching them, vulnerable in the moonlight, Lupa felt far more in danger than she had in the last ten years. There was a hunger, a desperation that made her wonder just how far they would go in order to get their revenge. She wondered how many people they would crush in order to obtain it.

As she laid back down in bed, her nerves made her feel like she wouldn’t be able to sleep for the rest of the night. It seemed that her exhaustion won out in the end, though –as soon as her head hit the pillow, darkness descended upon her once more.

* * *

 

            Lupa did not wake until mid-afternoon, the sounds of men practicing their sword technique the thing that finally lifted her from her slumber. She laid in bed, stiff and watery-eyed, and she wondered if she could get away with not moving for the rest of the day. A growl from her stomach told her that she would get away with no such thing.

            When she left her quarters, she was happy to not see any of the Evanuris. She wasn’t sure if they’d known her to be watching them, silhouetted in the moonlight, but she didn’t want to find out. There had been something private in their actions, and she wasn’t sure how they’d take it out on her if they knew she’d been part of it.

            Instead, she wandered the small path to the camp, alone and unhindered by the watchful eyes of those that’d escorted her there. It seemed that either Cassandra Pentaghast was busy attempting to terrorize someone else, or she was planning the Inquisition’s next move. The Inquisition. If Lupa had much of a sense of humor, she’d have laughed. It was dangerous for them to hope for peace, and yet here they were, the elves outnumbering the humans. Was that why the company that had traveled to the Western Approach had been human? To avoid suspicion of their actions?

            She wandered to the top of the hill and looked around for some sort of cook or food line, something to feed herself with. If she’d missed the mid-afternoon meal, she could potentially scrounge up a nug or a fennec, but with so many eyes out, she wasn’t sure if the hunting would somehow offend someone. Was that something that humans would find offensive? Hunting?

            She looked down among the tents, and she was surprised to see so many mages about, magic in every aspect of their existence. She saw a circle of them passing around a ball that looked to be made of ice, their laughter and shouting revealing it to be a game of some sort. Even among her clan, mages hadn’t been so open. Before the war, there’d been a muffled sort of acceptance of mages, the kind that made Templars slink into Dalish camps and scrutinize everyone with hate fueling their steps. She remembered watching from the trees, thankful that she hadn’t been touched with the trouble of magic. Although Keeper Deshana praised magic and the good it could do, it was obvious that humans abhorred it. They made it their mission to wipe it from the face of Thedas entirely.

            Well, that’d backfired, hadn’t it?

            “Do you watch them because you fear them? Or because you are curious?” The voice was gentle, lilting. Lupa glanced back at the elven woman with fair skin and snow-white hair, and she froze. The elf was taller than other elves, and her wide, doe-like eyes seemed kind. There was an air about her though, an aura that radiated something tricky, and Lupa realized that she was meeting Ghilan’nain. The last of the three.

            “Humans are loud and they stumble about like newborn Halla.” Lupa said, and she moved to the side so that Ghilan’nain could join her on the hill. As her shoulder brushed Lupa’s, she smelled of fresh rain and pressed flower petals.

            “And yet you revere Halla and are honored by their work with your people.” Ghilan’nain said.

            “Of that I am not so sure. They are said to be animals of merit, and yet they work with the Elvhen that wage war.”

            “It is perspective, in truth. They see the elves of Elvhenan, and they wish to bring about the glory from old. The Halla can see the noble effort, and aid them accordingly.” Her robes were light, transparent, and sheer. Lupa glanced down to the hem that fluttered and turned in the light breeze, and then looked back to the mages that kicked about the ball of ice.

            “It would have been nice to have been blessed with the respect of the Halla.” Lupa said dryly. “It could have saved me trouble of walking on foot.”

            “They are wonderful, divine creatures. They are some of my best creations.” Ghilan’nain paused, fumbling over her words for a moment. “You are marked of Andruil. Of her foci.”

            “I am.” Lupa agreed.

            “And you are to find our brothers and sister so that we may bring Fen’Harel to justice.”

            “That is the plan.” Lupa shifted away from the woman, idly rubbing her stomach as it growled.

            “Then I hope that the Halla speed your steps. Being here, I…there is much that I have learned of the time that has passed since we were away. The people struggled. The people hurt. They tell me of how the Elvhen exiled those much like you. You were once Dalish?” At Lupa’s nod, she continued. “There are some from ‘alienages’ that were also exiled, but…it warms me that you still serve your gods. That you still think of the old ways.”

            “I do not serve the gods.” Lupa replied sharply.

            “Oh?” Ghilan’nain tilted her head, and her hair caught in the breeze. Lupa wondered if she and Andruil practiced such motions that made them appear ethereal, or if it was natural.

            “I am here because there is a mark on my leg that could potentially kill me. Whatever happens afterwards is none of my concern.”

            “You would leave the Inquisition if the mark was removed today?” Ghilan’nain asked.

            “Yes.”

            “You walk the lonely path of your own free will?”

            “I do.” Lupa said firmly. “This…this here is all dangerous.” She motioned to the camp below, the magic that was blatant and wild. It was asking for notice. It was asking for a blood bath.

            “It is part of who we are as people.”

            “No. I have chosen a different path. They didn’t start massacring people until they had magic. I don’t need it to be a complete person. When the mark is removed, I will leave and let the Inquisition do what they feel is best. As I have done for the last ten years.”

            “My dear friend Andruil said that you were charming. I can see it now, too.” Ghilan’nain’s laugh felt like a slap, although the sort of slap that you couldn’t be too angry with. Lupa chewed on the side of her mouth and decided that silence was best. It seemed that Ghilan’nain had said her peace; she turned and walked away, leaving Lupa to her stewing and her dark thoughts. After a few minutes, Lupa turned and left the small hilltop as well, and she ignored the feeling that she was being watched by more than just the Mother of Halla. The Evanuris had been discussing her, wondering just how they could use her to further their own ends. She didn’t like it.

            There was a tent that had been assembled to look like a mess hall, and Lupa managed to snag a small plate from it and post up in a place that she couldn’t be snuck up on. She watched the people mingling, some laughing and joking, others discussing mundane things like the weather or potential troop movements. She could see mages: human, elf, and qunari alike, and although there was sometimes a shift or ripple of apprehension in the eyes of someone new, there seemed to be an unspoken camaraderie among the soldiers and mages. They were not alone. Everyone had faced horrors, but now they could face them together.

It seemed that no one had yet been informed of who she was or what she was doing there, and Lupa liked it. It made her feel invisible, part of the backdrop instead of center stage. She’d never wanted to be center stage, even when she’d been among friends and family. Someone passed by her, and they glanced long enough to nod civilly, but no one stared for longer than was polite. Another exile touched their own vallaslin in respectful understanding, and then they continued on with their friends. Lupa wolfed down her food and relished in the anonymity.

            “Lupa.” Cassandra’s voice called out over the heads of the others eating, and a silence stumbled across the mouths of those that’d been speaking. The sunlight spilled out from behind Cassandra, silhouetting her like a saint from the heavens, her hands resting on her hips in a strong pose. It was a stance that demanded attention.

            Lupa could almost _feel_ the eyes that pressed against her skin, and she swallowed a mouthful of food with difficulty. So much for anonymity. Cassandra motioned for her to follow, and Lupa gripped her plate tightly in one hand, a fork in the other. She debated handing the plate back, but survival instincts told her to take the food with her and eat while she walked. An exile never knew when their next meal would be –that much was certain. What was also certain was the precarious perch that Lupa found herself standing on between the Inquisition and the Evanuris. She took another forkful of food and stuffed it into her mouth, snagging a roll from the table of food as she walked by. Cassandra’s mouth flattened disapprovingly, but Lupa ignored it.

            “We may have a lead for the next god.” Cassandra led Lupa between the neat lines of tents, towards the Chantry doors. Lupa studied the people that gave them a wide berth, their gazes respectful as they watched Lady Cassandra.

            “How do you know when they will fall? How do you gain these leads?” Lupa asked between mouthfuls of food.

            “The first, Ghilan’nain, was by accident. Ghilan’nain then dreamed of Falon’Din falling, and where he would fall. He said that if he fell, then surely Andruil would as well. Lady Nightingale used her agents to spy upon the Elvish mages and heard the whispering of those that were more in tune with the Fade, and we tracked Andruil down that way.”

            “That is why the Emerald Knights almost beat the Inquisition to her?”

            “Yes.” The word was sour on Cassandra’s lips. “We have someone though, a mage that has offered his services to the Inquisition. He said that he has battled many elves, and in questioning one, he found information that may be of use to us.”

            “Do you think that you can trust him?” They reached the chantry steps, and Cassandra’s bark of laughter was cutting.

            “I suppose that I do not know. I can’t trust myself to make adequate judgements. I was wrong about you, wasn’t I?” She looked over to Lupa, and Lupa stopped chewing on the roll that was warm and buttered, though not without difficulty. She hadn’t tasted something so divine in over a year.

            “You had cause to think what you did. If I had been in your place, then the suspect may have never woken up. I’d have slit their throat and moved on.”

            “That is…” Cassandra wasn’t sure what to say about that, and the grimace on her face showed it.

            “You should doubt your doubts before you doubt your gut. Don’t apologize for doing what you had to do.” Lupa said firmly. Cassandra blinked, surprised at the statement, and her small smile seemed genuine.

            “Thank you.” Cassandra said, and she opened the door to the Chantry with feeling behind the movement. “With that behind us then, may I present Magister Dorian Pavus?”

            “That is quite formal of you, I must say. I thought we’d abolished such titles ages ago when the humans united under the nation of Andraste.” The man’s voice was lilting and smooth, a posh accent that set Lupa on edge immediately. She gripped her plate tightly and shifted her stance into a defensive position.

            “You are from what was once-”

            “Tevinter.” Lupa snarled. The man was draped in clothing of rich, ridiculous material, the swathes and yards of fabric accented with a critical eye for color coordination. He blinked, a little surprised, and he looked Lupa over, his expression indiscernable.

            “Yes, and you must have been Dalish before this war began.” He said, folding his arms over his chest. Strapped across his back, a garish and deadly staff loomed over them, large and imposing. Tevinter. If it was said that Orlais had raped the elves of their culture and their heritage, they first learned it from Tevinter. Lupa had never spoken with someone from Tevinter, but she’d heard enough tales and saw the damage of their lust for power. Once, when her clan had been strong, Lupa had had to join with a scouting party in order to rescue two of her clan mates from being abducted by slavers of Tevinter ilk. She hadn’t given them opportunity to speak. They’d killed the men and took in the other elves that’d been abducted.

            “Dorian is the one that says that he has information.” Cassandra said slowly, glancing between the two of them.

            “My gut is telling me not to trust whatever information he has.” Lupa replied. When the humans had banded together to fight the elf uprising, Tevinter had been the one to suggest purging any and all elves entirely. It’d been an almost unanimous vote, until the humans realized just how powerful the elves were. They’d expected to squash down slaves and servants, not blood-thirsty elves whose magic was raw and untethered.

            “Oh, how quaint, an elf that hates someone from Tevinter.” Dorian clapped his hands together, a wry smile underneath a moustache that’d been combed far too meticulously.

            “It is information that affects the Inquisition. Cassandra said heavily.

            “It does not mean he will tell the truth.”

            “Oh, then cast a spell that will tell you whether or not I speak the truth. We all know that elves have a stronger aptitude for magic these days.” Dorian sighed, and she was struck by the utter arrogance in his tone, completely at ease with his surroundings. Was it a bluff? Lupa suddenly felt incredibly foolish to be stuck holding a plate of food with a Tevinter bastard standing before her. She should have had her blades drawn.

            “He could be spying on you.” Lupa said to Cassandra.

            “Yes, and you could be spying on me in order to inform others of my treachery in coming here. The Nation of Andraste isn’t exactly pleased with the Inquisition forming, you know.” Dorian said conversationally. “Though, what they’re happy about is far beyond me. They’re a little preoccupied fighting in a war, you know.”

            “Then out with your supposed information.” Lupa demanded.

            “You’re an absolute delight, aren’t you?” Dorian asked rhetorically. “Ah, very well, then. Since your friend is charming enough to ask kindly, I came to inform you that Fen’Harel knows what you are doing. A delightful little elf that tried to slip a knife between my ribs had a letter that I found on his body. He was a messenger from the Emerald Knights that appeared to be on his way to meet with the Halamshiral. It appears that Fen’Harel knows exactly what you are doing, reaching out to the gods he’d locked away so long ago.”

            “Who all knows of the gods falling?” Lupa looked at Cassandra, her mind reeling. She’d thought herself somewhat part of the information that passed around Thedas, since knowledge aided survival, but had all of Thedas learned of the gods falling while she’d remained ignorant? Just how uninformed was she?

            “We assumed that others would find out sooner or later…more and more flock to us each day. No matter Lady Josephine’s optimism, some informants surely slip through the cracks.” Cassandra said.

            “Yes, and it appears that Fen’Harel knows what the other gods plan for him. What was interesting about the letter wasn’t that _he_ knew.”

            “We know that he will try to hunt them first.” Lupa said, glancing back outside and towards the small hill where Evanuris stalked and made their own plans.

            “Yes, but that is where it becomes delightful. He doesn’t want them hunted. His orders for the messenger were to inform Halamshiral that he wants them brought to their capital city, unharmed. He does not want to destroy the gods. He wants to reconcile with them.”


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

            “Reconcile?” Lupa snorted without meaning to.

            “Yes. Obviously the letter didn’t go into detail, but I thought that if the Inquisition was potentially harnessing a mass of elven power in order to stop this war, then you might as well be informed. You may have an option if you can get to Fen’Harel.”

            “This could be a trap set by the Elvhen.” Cassandra said doubtfully.

            “Yes, it certainly could be. Although, I doubt that they were banking on one of their own being killed by a human that just-so-happened to be able to decipher the elvish writing. It is a bit of a stretch to say that they supposed I would then use that as an opportunity to come and divulge all of my secrets to you.” There was an arrogant drawl to his voice, the voice of a person that enjoyed hearing themselves speak. It rubbed Lupa the wrong way.

            “Unless you’re working for them. You could have been compelled by an elf to say and do these things.” Lupa said, and Cassandra nodded slowly in agreement. Thankfully, Cassandra seemed to be as distrustful as Lupa was.

            “There is a film of magic that lays over the eyes and mind when a compulsion spell is set in place. Do a cleansing spell and see for yourself.” His eyes were dark, a golden brown that bore into hers unabashedly. When Lupa did not immediately wave her hand and utter a spell, his lip twitched in triumph.

            “Oh? Can you not do a cleansing spell?” He asked lightly. “My mistake. I supposed all elves could back up their words with action.”

            “I do not need magic to make a point.” Lupa snarled.

            “No, but it would help with your suspicions, wouldn’t it?”

            “We have other mages that can look at his mind.” Cassandra said, silencing Lupa with a simple glance. Lupa sucked her cheeks in as she swallowed a curse. “And we shall certainly have you checked out. Your story could be a falsity, even to you.”

            “Yes, the dreaded Vir Banal’ras, those that hunt in the shadows and distort the mind for pleasure. I do not fear your people peeking into my mind, as long as they keep their noses out of personal memories.” Dorian looked to Lupa and smiled. “If you were a practicing mage, then you’d have already done it. It’s a rite of passage almost, to have a mage attempt to touch minds with another mage in meeting.”

            “You’ll do no such thing to me.” Lupa bit out.

            “Oh, I couldn’t. You may not use magic, but it’s there. You’ve got a wall around your mind as impenetrable as Skyhold.”

            “How is…the battle for Skyhold?” Cassandra asked, stepping closer to Dorian. It seemed that he had no information about another god falling. For Cassandra, it was time to move on to other news.

            “It is…war.” Dorian replied, and in a brief moment, from one breath to the next, his expression of general disdain faltered. His jaw tensed, and his eyes softened. “The elves are holed up in the fortress and, as I said, it is impenetrable.

            “Do you know casualties?” Cassandra inquired.

            “The Andrastians have recruited blood mages that have been able to hold a good defense long enough for our warriors to engage, but…” His smug, lilting voice flickered back into place. “They have a saying among the Elvhen: Every elf a mage. If the humans have fifty mages in a platoon of one hundred, the elves have one hundred mages in a platoon of one hundred.” His eyes cut to Lupa, and Lupa scowled.

            “Then while they are preoccupied, we may see about potentially getting word to Fen’Harel.” Cassandra looked over to Lupa, and she nodded to the door. “Will you…tell them?” Lupa didn’t have to ask who ‘them’ was. Evanuris. Surely the gods would want to know that their captor potentially wanted to reunite? What would their reactions be? Lupa thought back to the night before, when Andruil had vowed revenge with her brother, and she repressed a shudder. No matter what Fen’Harel may or may have not wanted, his desires would mean little to them.

            “Yes.”

            “Ah, they are here among you all? How interesting!” Lupa didn’t bother to look back at Dorian. She nodded to Cassandra and strode out of the chantry, taking a bite of her now cold food. She didn’t like turning her back on the Tevinter mage. She didn’t like the idea of Cassandra listening to him, either. The one thing that she could comfort herself with was the fact that if Cassandra had easily tied Lupa to a stake in the ground until they could make a plan, she would at least be wary with information that seemed to have fortuitously fallen into their laps.

            “Watch out!” Lupa saw a flash out of the corner of her eye, but she was too late. The ball of energy that slammed against her shoulder sent her flying, and Lupa let go of the plate of food in order to twist her body into a graceful curve, landing on the ground with a thud. She rolled several times and landed in a heap, the food scattered about and the sound of shouting in the distance. None of that was noted, however. Dazed, Lupa could only grasp onto one thing as her mind whirled and her veins began to tingle.

            Magic.

            “No…” She hissed, and she stood up quickly, eyes darting frantically. She could see people rushing towards her, their green armor glinting in the sun. No, no, no. Without pausing to plan, she ran away from them, the tickle along her bloodstream growing as her breath rose up to her throat and strangled her. Emerald armor, brilliant and proud, lips that formed manacles and bound those around them that would not conform.

            _I remember the blood. And the screaming_.

            She broke the line of the camp and ran through the field, the wheat shuffing and whispering against her clothes, and her hands burned with an ache to release the pressure underneath her skin. But no, no it was not _right_ , it could not _be_ , and as she ran through a stream, Lupa skidded to a stop and made a snap decision. She fell to her knees in the brook and plunged her hands in the water, trembling. The moment she touched the water, steam rose up around her, and the air hissed with displeasure.

            “No, no, _no…_ ” She whined, silencing the weak noise with a growl.

            “Exhale slowly and concentrate.” Lupa jerked at the voice behind her, but they shushed her gently. “No, don’t look at me. Stare down at your hands, and begin to control your breathing. Take calm, steady breaths.”

            Lupa inhaled, and the breath rushed from her, sharp and furious. The water beneath her palms boiled and bubbled, and she took in another puff of air, holding it and staring.

            “Now slowly exhale. Feel the energy around you and allow it to move you. It is as part of you as you are of it.” Lupa exhaled, her eyes trained on her fingertips that glowed red, and she focused on the way that the air around her pressed up on top of her. The water from the stream cut paths around her legs and arms, and the rocks below bit at her knees.

            “As you feel your blood boil, concentrate on the action of lowering the high emotions. Feel yourself sooth and cool your mind as well as your body. All is well. You are in control.” Lupa closed her eyes, and she focused on the soothing voice that beckoned to her with promises of peace. She sunk lower into the water, and she inhaled deeply.

            “Open your eyes.” Lupa opened her eyes and looked down, surprised to see no bubbles roiling about, no steam spitting in the air. She blinked, startled, and lifted up fingers that looked perfectly normal and tan, like they’d never commanded fire from her fingertips. She gaped, considered her palms, and then gaped some more.

            “You are the one in control.” She exhaled sharply, and she pressed her palms to her chest, a small tremor in her spine.

            “I do not know whether to thank you or ask you why you followed me.” She said.

            “A simple thanks would suffice.” Solas said from the bank of the stream.

            “Thank you.”

            “Were you hurt?” He asked, and –dare she say it –he sounded almost kind. Lupa glanced down to her singed tunic and breastplate, and she shook her head.

            “I am fine.”

            “Dunking your hands into a stream in order to prevent yourself from setting fire to something is not fine.” He declared. She looked over at him where he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, almost serene.

            “You asked if I was hurt, and I said that I was fine. I didn’t say that I was in control.” She stood up, the water swirling around her knees, tugging her backwards.

            “This is true.” Solas agreed. Lupa wasn’t sure what to do next –should she continue to speak with him? As it was, embarrassment was burning slowly up her chest, and she knew she’d be turning red in the face if she didn’t make a hasty escape. After a prolonged silence, she turned and walked out of the stream, her new boots she’d nabbed from the Emerald Knights squishing and sloshing as she stepped. Great.

            “You need to practice.” He called out to her. Lupa stopped and stared back towards the camp where she was sure the Emerald Knights were waiting, wondering if they should pursue her or not. She didn’t want to face them. She didn’t want to face the Evanuris, their eyes probing and their lips curled up unpleasantly. She didn’t want to turn around and face Solas either, a person that she wasn’t entirely sure whether to view as a friend or an enemy. She knew he wasn’t what he seemed, but then again, he did seem to be there whenever she was in dire need. Was that a sign of someone to trust, or someone to hold at a distance?

            “I am fine.”

            “I am not asking you to learn and use magic in its entirety, Lupa. I am saying that it would be safer for you to learn to at least control it when it tries to rise up.”

            “I don’t need to learn to use magic.” Lupa replied, and she turned back to him, the stream gurgling between them. Solas’ lip twitched into a smile.

            “The three times that I have seen magic at your disposal, it was volatile and dangerous. You need to control it. At the very least, so that you do not hurt yourself.”

            “Why are you concerned about my wellbeing? Why are you even here?” She demanded.

            “As I said before: this Inquisition is going to bring about change. You are branded with a mark from a goddess in the times of Arlathan, and surely that will mean something in the time to come.” He sounded like someone that was used to being listened to, someone that spoke and others followed in line. Lupa wondered who he was before the war, or what his real purpose was. It couldn’t be just because he wanted to coddle an exile that couldn’t control magic she didn’t want. _“If I wanted to play games with you, I’d have started them long ago.”_ No, he had an end game. They all did: Cassandra, the Evanuris, Dorian, the Elvhen. The question wasn’t whether or not he had one. The question was: what was it?

            “Do you think that you can help me control this?” She asked warily.

            “I know that I can.”

            “…Then I suppose that I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” She threw her hands up, but on second thought she quickly folded them. No sense in accidently setting something on fire.

            “We always have choices. To achieve what one desires though, one must take regrettable measures. In your case, that is learning to use magic, at the very least to prevent it from harming you.”

            “Alright…then I will let you help me.”

            “Thank you.” It didn’t sound sarcastic; more surprise than anything else. His looked her over and then waved his hand, an afterthought to something. There was a tugging, ticklish sensation, and Lupa looked down just in time to watch her clothing dry itself, the water curling through the air and then dropping back into the brook with a splash. She patted herself, stunned and then looked across to him where he smiled, something verging on playful.

            “…You are not what you seem.” She said, and he nodded in agreement.

            “Yes, but neither are you. We are what we choose to be.” He bowed slightly at the waist, formal and polite. Lupa mimicked the gesture, and he turned to walk away from her, his hands clasped behind his back and a slight twist to his step, lupine and graceful.

* * *

 

            That night, Lupa sat on the ledge by her window and watched Andruil. The Goddess of Sacrifice was bathed in moonlight, and she cried in the stillness of the night, her fingers tangled in her hair. The raw, aching sobs clawed their way into Lupa’s mind, and they stayed with her for hours after.

* * *

 

            The next morning, Lupa bathed and then sought out the Evanuris, her fingers twisting her wet hair up into a bun. She found them sitting outside of the house that was claimed by Falon’Din, hands clasped together tightly. As she approached, Andruil glanced over at her and smiled.

            “Lupa.” She said her name affectionately, like they were old friends. Lupa nodded to her and shifted her stance, ignoring the hungry way that Falon’Din watched her. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was that he found fascinating, but it made her uncomfortable, all the same.

            “I’m not sure if Lady Cassandra brought the news to you, but there is speculation as to whether or not Fen’Harel wants to actually harm you. He may wish to, instead, extend an olive branch.”

            “An olive branch?” Ghilan’nain shifted and tilted her head. “This is a new saying?”

            “He may wish for peace and reconciliation with all of you.” The Evanuris glanced at one another, their expressions shifting and twisting from one emotion to the next.

            “And what do you think? You are the one that has lived in this war. Tell us of Fen’Harel.” Falon’Din beckoned her closer, and Lupa sat down on the edge of the chair offered to her.

            “You would know him better than I do.”

            “Yes, but you know him as he is now. He may be tricky still, but he will have adapted. Changed.” Andruil tilted her head, and Lupa recalled the way she clung to Falon’Din as she vowed to drink the trickster’s blood.

            “I have never met him.” She said slowly. “In truth, not many people knew when he first began his plan to tear apart the veil.”

            “He has always been problematic.” Andruil sniffed delicately.

            “He began sending messages though, through a network of spies that he had infiltrating every single government and nation. He told the people that ‘there would come a time when the glory of old would be restored.’ Other elves began flocking to his call, hoping for something more for the people.”

            “And then?” Falon’Din prompted.

            “I’m not sure exactly what happened. My clan stayed to our ways. Keeper Deshana sent one elf to investigate the situation, but they never returned. All that I know is that tensions were rising between elves and humans, and one morning, I woke up and set my bedroll on fire.”

            “Intriguing.” Ghilan’nain murmured.

            “I suppose.” Lupa said uncomfortably. “By then, Fen’Harel already had a following the size of a small country. They stormed through the cities, and it was only by Lady Nightingale’s warning that the humans were prepared enough to either fight back or evacuate. Fen’Harel reached out to the elves and beseeched them to seek out the Emerald Graves where they would find shelter and people to teach them how to control their newfound magic. Circles rebelled, more than likely due to the number of alienage elves in them, and some humans joined them as well.

            The nations had all remained split, but after the first year or so of fighting and territory lost in all areas, the humans banded together under the Nation of Andraste. The elves had already formed the Elvhen. That is when the real fighting began. Those of us that were found that did not comply with the new laws were cast out. Others were recruited, and militaries and factions were born.”

            The Evanuris were quiet, mulling this over in their heads. Lupa watched Falon’Din absentmindedly pull out the marbles and twist them around in his hands, his pale eyes calculative and distant. Ghilan’nain idly dragged her toes through the dirt, making lines and then crossing them out. Andruil did not move as she thought, however. She sat still as stone, a hunter trying to locate her quarry.

            “In truth, it could be a trap.” Lupa continued on. “He could say this, but truly mean to end you all. Or, he may wish to rise you all up for the people, beacons of hope that they can truly have what once was. It is difficult to say. But the Inquisition, while they want peace between the factions, they do hold him accountable for all that’s happened. No matter what happens, they want his head.”

            “As do we.” Falon’Din said coolly. “Forgiving and benevolent to the people we may be, but for one that has caused so much trouble and pain, we will not stand for it. Fen’Harel must be destroyed.”

            “We can use this, though.” Andruil said. “If some of us go to him under pretenses of peace, we will have him surrounded. We can easily bring him down that way.”

            “You still need your foci unlocked.” Lupa pointed out. “Otherwise, he’ll obliterate you easily. Though I’ve never seen him, his power is legendary.”

            “We also need our brothers and sister.” Ghilan’nain said. “This is nothing if they cannot partake in justice.”

            “Then is it not wonderful that I know where the next one will fall?” Falon’Din asked.

            “You do?” Lupa asked, surprised.

            “He dreamed of it just last night.” Andruil said quietly, her eyes pinned to her brother.

            “How is it that you dream of these things?” Falon’Din stopped spinning the marbles.

            “My brother Dirthamen keeps secrets, and he and I are one of the same soul. I see what he does, as he sees what I do.” Falon’Din looked to the distance, and he inhaled deeply. “Sylaise of the hearth falls next, and she will fall where the Elvhen call home once more.”

            “Halamshiral?” Lupa asked, horrified.

            “No, a place whose trees mark those that fell in battle against. Every tree a life, and every life taken by force.”

            “The Emerald Graves.” Lupa said slowly, and her ears roared. Though not Halamshiral, it was equally as dangerous, equally as deadly. The Emerald Graves, where the most zealous of followers roamed among the trees, enchanting everything they touched. Where once her ancestors slept beneath trees that rose up to graze the sky with their branches, now her brothers and sisters stormed the undergrowth, hunting for humans or traitors. Sylaise would fall there?

            “If they find her, then we will know for sure if Fen’Harel means for peace or not.” Ghilan’nain said archly.

            “We will not let them find her.” Andruil snapped. “In case this is a trap. Until we know for certain his intentions, then we must get to our brothers and sister first.”

            “I am in agreement with Andruil.” Falon’Din said, and Ghilan’nain crossed one leg over the other, gaze impassive.

            “Then we will speak with the others about it.” Lupa declared, and she stood up. Perhaps, if they can could form a group of elves that looked the part of the Elvhen, then they could slip about undetected. Perhaps, if their timing was right, they could get into the Emerald Graves and back out of it with Sylaise intact in less than a week. If they were lucky, they would face no foes.

            Lupa was banking on none of this, though. If a god was going to fall in enemy territory, she knew that they had better prepare for a fight.

* * *

 

            The others were assembled quickly, although this time Lupa was pleased to see that the Tevinter mage wasn’t allowed into the meeting. Although Cassandra had no qualms allowing him to pass on information, she wasn’t going to trust him blindly. Lupa wondered what she’d done to deserve the honor of being allowed into a high-ranking meeting, since she was nothing more than a victim of circumstance and awful luck.

            “You are sure of this?” Cassandra asked Falon’Din. He nodded, his eyes bouncing from one object in the room to the next, observing everything.

            “I am.” He said simply.

            “We can’t send any of the Evanuris.” Leliana said, “it is too dangerous.”

            “You will not stop me from going to see my sister.” Andruil said firmly.

            “You are at risk of being in harm’s way. Until your power is released from the foci, we won’t allow you to cross directly into danger.” Cullen said, leaning over the map. Lupa looked down at the lines and pins that marked different holdings and territories, and she couldn’t repress a grimace when her eyes landed on the Emerald Graves. It was a massive, sprawling forest –how would they find Sylaise?

            “And how do you think it is safe to send _her_ instead? She bears vallaslin. They will see her face from a mile away and mark her as a target.”Andruil folded her arms and shifted her weight to one leg, frowning.

            “That is…true.” Lupa agreed. There was a reason that exiles still had their markings. Even when she’d found out the truth of the slave origins of the vallaslin, she hadn’t been given the option to have them removed. She was cast out, her tattoos branding her as unenlightened. Ignorant. Shamed. That was the way of war. If you could not convert or destroy something, then you humiliated and degraded instead.

            “Perhaps one of the Emerald Knights may either remove them or put a glamour over her?” Leliana suggested. “They have the power, and their presence will keep the truth behind your place there masked. You will simply be one of the Elvhen.”

            “Is it safe to trust the Emerald Knights with this?” Lupa asked.

            “They are a valuable asset. Their armor and knowledge of the layout of Elvhenan can keep you guarded and protected while you hunt for Sylaise.” Cassandra informed her.

            “How am I supposed to hunt for her? Where do I even begin to look?” Lupa exclaimed. “When I found Andruil’s orb, it was an accident. What am I supposed to do this time?”

            “A pillar of light will erupt where she falls. If you follow the light, you will find her.” Falon’Din said, and he paused in his slow pacing to flash Lupa a smile. “It is easy business to track a person that wants to be found.”

            “Something that the actual Emerald Knights will keep in mind as they search for her, too.” Cullen reminded them, sobering Falon’Din up immensely. He glanced over to Andruil, and his expression darkened.

            “Then you must find her before they do. Until we know Fen’Harel’s true intentions, we must assume that he will kill on contact.” Cassandra ordered. She clasped her hands behind her back and straightened her shoulders.

            “You aren’t coming?” Lupa asked Cassandra, surprised.

            “They can easily mask vallaslin. They cannot make me, a human, appear to be a mage as well as an elf, not to other elves at least. You will have to do this without me.”

            “Fenedhis…” Lupa murmured. She hadn’t thought about that. Frustrated, she clawed her fingers through her hair and scraped back the loose strands, sighing. “Then let us go. The faster we can reach the Emerald Graves, the faster that we can return with Sylaise.”

            “While you are gone, we can better prepare for diplomacy between the Nation of Andraste and Elvhenan.” Josephine said, and she set a small marker down on the table at their location. “We have Divine Justinia that is going to travel here and meet with us. If we can reason with her, then we can potentially reason with the human government.”

            “She will listen to us.” Cassandra said firmly. Across the table, Leliana folded her arms and nodded in agreement, though an odd expression passed over her face.

            “Yes, she promised us at least that.” Leliana agreed.

            As Cassandra led them from the meeting room, the Evanuris followed them out of the chantry door, Ghilan’nain’s bare feet scuffing and dragging across the stones. When they reached the sunlight outside, Andruil sighed.

            “The sunlight is a balm.” She exclaimed, and she lifted her hands up and turned around slowly.

            “Do be careful, Lupa.” Falon’Din stepped around his sister and took Lupa’s hand lightly. His skin was cold to the touch, and it made small tingles of discomfort travel up her arm. “Return with our sister in one piece, please.”

            “I will do what I can.” Lupa said, pulling her hand away.

            “We appreciate the effort. We will appreciate it more once she is with us.”

“Perhaps we shall pray to their Maker for her safe retrieval.” Andruil said coolly, walking by with Ghilan’nain. Cassandra whirled around to stare at the three of them darkly, her eyebrows dark slashes against her fair skin. Falon’Din merely bowed his head though, and he followed behind the other two with a lazy, arrogant stride. Cassandra eyed them, and Lupa saw the fingers on her sword-arm twitch.

            “We need them.” Lupa reminded her quietly.

            “I suppose that I never presumed that a god would be so…” Cassandra let out an animalistic growl.

            “Uncaring?” Lupa offered.

            “So human.” Cassandra corrected. “Flawed, cruel, and utterly human-like. I thought that I would find wisdom and strength, not…this.”

            “We make gods by mis-imagining people. The worst thing that we can do is raise a person to godhood, forgetting entirely that they’re a person first and an ideal second.” A breeze drifted by, and Lupa rubbed her arms as goosebumps rose up.

            “We need them.” Cassandra said slowly, but she didn’t sound as zealous and sure as she had before, back when Lupa had been a prisoner, bound and questioned. She shook her head sharply, as if to dispel her own doubts and worries. “Come. I would have you meet the Emerald Knights that you will travel with.”

            Lupa followed Cassandra among the tents, although this time she noted the many different people that not only saluted Cassandra, but also made note of the exiled companion. She wondered if they had noticed her always being around their apparent commanding officers, or if word had gotten around that she’d run off when she’d been hit with a spell. Another exile met her eye, and they winked.

            “They have their own tents and equipment, although for secrecy, I will soon have them in the same equipment as the rest of the Inquisition.” Cassandra explained, and she stopped at the entrance to the platoon’s tents, her arms crossing over her chest as she cleared her throat. An elf with orange, cat-like eyes glanced up at them, and when they saw who it was, they stood up and gave three short whistles. The others began assembling quickly, their footsteps and armor silent. In less time than it took for Lupa to look around, the entire platoon was lined up in eight even rows, at attention. The orange-eyed elf stood at the front, and they saluted.

            “Thank you.” Cassandra said. The elf gave a curt command, and the platoon moved as one to a rest position, their eyes fixated to the distance.

            “Platoon Enasalin is prepared for debriefing, Lady Pentaghast.” The elf said sharply.

            “I will make this quick because there is much to do. Falon’Din has foreseen Sylaise falling in the Emerald Graves.” No one moved as she spoke. Lupa shifted her weight and crossed her own arms as she studied them, waiting for the break. It was said that the Emerald Knights training could break the strongest of men. Their duty to discipline coupled with bloodthirst was legendary. Just standing in front of them, exposed and outnumbered, made the hairs on the back of Lupa’s neck stand on end.

            “Lupa will command the expedition to retrieve her. We are do use everything at our disposal to ensure that Sylaise returns to our camp unharmed.”

            “Yes, ma’am!” The platoon shouted.

            “If it is possible, you will not engage the enemy. Subterfuge and secrecy are key. We must do everything that we can to ensure that Fen’Harel does not know that we’re there.”

            “Yes, ma’am!” The platoon shouted.

            “You will leave at dawn tomorrow.”

            “Yes, ma’am!” Lupa uneasily looked at them all, their faces hardened and their bodies rigid.

“They will listen to you.” Cassandra informed her. “Trust them. They are here for the same reason that everyone else is.” Cassandra clapped Lupa on the back and walked away, leaving her to make eye contact with the leader who stared at her impassively, expression utterly blank. Lupa swallowed the instinct to draw her bow, and she cleared her throat.

            “You’re dismissed.” She said curtly. The elf saluted, then turned and called the others to attention, dismissing them with another sharp command. Lupa walked over slowly, eyes bouncing from one emerald green helmet to the next, every bit of self-preservation in her bloodstream demanding that she run.

            “Have you been to the Emerald Graves before?” The leader asked. Their hair was cut short, though the brilliant auburn was bold against their skin.

            “Yes.” Lupa said warily. “Once.”

            “Then you know how dangerous this mission is. You know that we cannot make a mistake.” The elf’s grim features were troubling in their insistence.

            “For the last ten years, I have been focused on doing all that I may to avoid a mistake. Any mistake meant death.” She could almost feel the probing gaze of the leader as they traced over her vallaslin with their eyes, and she wondered what they thought about her choices. She wondered why she even cared.

            “It says enough that you’re alive now. We’ll follow you.” The elf decided.

“I appreciate that.” Lupa replied dryly.

“Enasalin means victory, in our language.” They said with a small smile. “With us, you will not fail.”

Lupa wished, not for the first time, that she had as much confidence as this once member of Elvhenan. It was hard to feel such confidence though, when one contemplated traipsing into the den of giants and monsters.

* * *

 

            The next morning, under a daunting scarlet sunrise, Platoon Enasalin broke camp and rode from the Inquisition, Lupa at the head of the procession. She could feel the eyes of every person in the encampment, and in her ears there was the echoing cries of Andruil from the night before, haunting her with the lust for blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to JessicaPendragon for winning the Solastolemyvhenan's Follower Giveaway's first prize!


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